A 



ROYAL PASTORAL 



OTHER POEMS 



BY 



^3 



JOHN GOSSE 



A^ 




NEW YORK 
E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO. 

COOPER UNION 
1883 



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.t^. 



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Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year of our Lord 1883, by 

JOHN GOSSE FREEZE, 

in the Library of Congress at Washington City, D. C. 



TROWS 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COiVrANV, 

NEW YORK. 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



Your eye rests upon a new book with the same 
indifferent glance you are wont to bestow upon 
a stranger. If you should be pleased at the first 
sight, you seek to find out the name of the one 
with much of the same curiosity with which you 
turn to the title-page of the other. A celebrated 
author has well remarked, '' There is a kind of 
physiognomy in the titles of books, no less than 
in the faces of men, by which a skilful observer 
will as well know what to expect from the one as 
the other." 

If you have therefore been pleased to come so 
far, be it known unto you, most courteous reader, 
that the matters contained in the following pages 
comprise those of his poems which the author 
considers the best, and the most worthy of your 
attention ; that they are not works so much as 
recreations, as not being the labors of his daily 
life, and yet much more than the mere amuse- 
ment of the hour. 

It remains only to remark that if any person, 
upon the perusal hereof, shall find something 



iv Author's Preface. 

which peradventure he has met before, and 
which purported to have been written by another 
than him whose name stands on the title-page, 
let him beware of making any charges there- 
anent, or pretending any discoveries, for the 
writer hereof hereby positively asseverates that 
he is himself the sole author of this work, and 
any claim by any other or on behalf of any other 
will bring some person or persons into well- 
merited controversy. 



OF THE AUTHOR. 



The author of this volume was the son of 
parents in very moderate circumstances. The 
name indicates a German descent, and it is not 
needful to go further. Not being very robust 
physically, he endeavored to and did obtain suffi- 
cient education to fit him for the business of 
school-teaching, and this he followed diligently 
for some years. He had some knowledge of 
Latin, and pretended to an acquaintance with 
Greek. During the time he was occupied in 
school-teaching he gave to literature and the 
classic authors constant and careful attention, 
and taught them with success. Not being exactly 
satisfied with that method and source of liveli- 
hood, he began to prepare himself to be admitted 
to the ranks of one of the learned professions, 
and after some years succeeded. Thenceforward 
his uneventful life passed in the constant and 
diligent performance of his professional duties. 
The necessity to labor prevented him from fol- 
lowing the quiet student-life he so much loved, 
and possibly also prevented him from leaving 



vi Of the Author. 

something more worthy of himself than the 
volume here presented. 

There do, indeed, remain among his manu- 
scripts, in possession of the writer, considerable 
fragments of a poem in four cantos, and of which 
enough may be collated and arranged to justify 
publication. This will not be done, however, un- 
less the condition and finish of the work prove 
to be such as to increase his reputation, and not 
merely to make a book ; for certainly there is no 
more reprehensible practice than that obtaining 
among us of raking together all the literary re- 
mains of an author, especially if a successful one, 
and exhibiting them in print to the sneers and 
pity, for the most part, of an unsympathizing 
public. Fragments, scraps, loose thoughts, studies 
of subjects, all are turned into merchandize by 
the greedy heirs. All that which the author 
would have put into the fire they put into a 
book. 

That fate will not befall the author hereof. 
What is given was prepared by himself. He 
left no children, and the family name is extinct 
in his line. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Author's Preface .. iii 

Of the Author v 

Invocation i 

A ROYAL PASTORAL 2 

POEMS : 

A Visit to Santa Claus 30 

Saint Valentine's Day 43 

Vanity of Greatness 49 

The Breach of Promise 59 

Rape of Dearbhorgil , 66 

Destiny 74 

Rowena 81 

Shaving : A Satire pi 

Progress of the Age lOO 

Ode : Fourth of July 107 

The Susquehanna 112 

Castle-Building 117 

Spirit Melody 121 

Euchre 124 

Under the Snow 127 

Truth and Falsehood 130 



viii Table of Contents. 

PAGE 

POEMS TO MARGARET: 

Ode to my Flute 133 

Ode to the Wind 136 

Parting 140 

Noctes Ambrosiae 143 

The Signal Lamp 146 

Waiting 150 

Reality and Romance 152 

The Reason Why 157 

Ten O'clock 159 

The Delayed Letter 161 

The Magic Name 163 

Time , 165 



SONNETS : 

The Quail 169 

My Pew at St. Paul's 170 

Married 171 

Our Baby Kate 172 

Fact and Fancy 1 73 

Creation i74 

Life Misspent 175 

Aurora Borealis 176 

Northern Lights 177 

On the Same 1 78 

Summer 1 79 

A Political Study 180 

The Demagogue 181 

Unforgotten 182 

Helen 183 



Table of Contents. ix 

PAGB 

SONNETS : 

Hope 184 

Boyd 185 

Maude 186 

One More Year 187 

The End 1 88 



MISCELLANEOUS : 

Battle of Lake Erie .189 

The Knight of St. John I93 

Sub Rosa 196 

The Remonstrance I99 

Anathemas 202 

Stoicisms 204 

A Ballad 206 

Farewell, Woman 208 

Recantation 210 

Woman 212 

Ad Evam 214 

The Toper's Reverie. 216 

Minnequa 219 

After the Battle 221 

A Serenade 223 

To a Rose from my Bush 225 

A Monody 227 

The Winding Stair 229 

Felis Infelix 231 

A Valentine 233 

Washington 234 

The Fifth Ode 235 



X Table of Contents. 

if PAGE 

ECCLESIASTES : 

Vanity of Labor 238 

Vanity of Wisdom , 240 

Vanity of Pleasure , 242 

Instability of Things 247 

God the Judge 250 

Oppressions 252 

Vanity of Speech 255 

To a Miser 257 

Wealth Unenjoyed 259 

The Two Houses 261 

Corruptions 262 

Praise of Wisdom 265 

Against Woman 267 

Respect to Kings 270 

Providence Over All 271 

Eat and Drink 273 

God Over All 275 

To a Young Man 277 

Contradictions 279 

Wisdom Unappreciated 281 

Cautions , 283 

Old Age 285 

L'Envoy 288 



Int)ocation. 

Come, beardless Leader of the Sacred Nine, 
Unshorn Apollo, from thy heavenly hill, 
Once more to earth thine influence incline. 
And burning thoughts into my mind instil. 
Without thy kindly aid my voice must still 
Raise scarce an echo the low vales among. 
And like the purling of a puny rill 
That hardly glads the mead it creeps along. 
Without effect or force must flow my nameless 
song. 

Resume again thy long forsaken seat. 

Take up the sceptre thou wast wont to sway, 

Touch my young lip with accents pure and 

sweet, 
And grant me strength stern virtue to obey : 
Turn not thine ear from my request away, 
Vouchsafe me power to tune the Lyre Divine, 
To calm the passions, cheer the weary way, 
To pay to love the tributary line, 
To leave a name on earth when I its cares resign. 



^ IXomi IpastovaL 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

The King. 
The Bride. 
Chorus of Virgins. 
Chorus of Youths. 
The Bride's Brothers. 
The King's Attendants. 



SCENE FIRST, 



THE KING'S CHAMBERS. 



Chorus of Virgins. 
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth. 

Better thine endearments far, than wine. 

Sweet as is the fragrance of thy banquet, 
Yet is thy name the best of all perfumes, 
Sweeter than all fragrance wide diffused : 
Thus are we drawn, thus do we follow thee. 
Thus hath the King brought us to his chambers ; 
We will be happy and rejoice in thee ; 
Though we forget the wine of thy banquet, 
Thy love, sweeter far, we still remember : 
For uprightness do the virgins love thee. 



A Royal Pastoral. 

The Bride. 

Ye daughters of Jerusalem ! 
I am black but comely — 
As the tents of Kedar — 

As the curtains of Solomon. 

Scorn me not because of my blackness — 
Because the sun hath looked upon me : 
My mother's sons were jealous of me, 
They made me keeper of the vineyards, 
But mine own vineyard have I not kept. 

Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, 
Whither dost thou lead and feed thy flock ? 
Where dost make it to repose at noon ? 
For why should I be as one astray 
By the flocks of thy companions ? 

Chorus of Virgins. 

If thou know not, 
Thou fairest among women. 

Go thy way forth 
By the footsteps of the flock, 

And feed thy kids 
Beside the shepherds' tents. 



A Royal Pastoral. 

The King enters. 

The King. 
Thou art likened, my Beloved, 
To a company of horses 
In the chariots of Pharoah ; 
Thy cheeks are comely with jewels, 
And necklaces adorn thy neck. 

Chorus of Virgins. 
Chains of gold will we make thee, 
And ornaments of silver 
Set round with priceless jewels. 

The Bride. 
While the King sitteth at his banquet, 
My spikenard its fragrance sendeth forth ; 
A bundle of myrrh is my beloved. 
In my arms shall he lie all the night : 
My Love is a cluster of henna 
From the vineyards of En-gedi. 

The King. 
Lo thou art beautiful, 
Lo thou art fair, my love, 
Eyes hast thou like the dove. 



5 A Royal Pastoral. 

The Bride. 
Lo thou too art fair, beloved, 
Yea, pleasant in all gladsome things : 

Our couch is green and flourishing. 

The King. 
The beams of our house are of cedar. 
The galleries thereof are of fir. 
The rafters thereof are of cypress. 

The Bride. 
I am the rose of Sharon, 
The lily of the valleys. 

The King. 
As the lily among the thorns, 
Is my love among the daughters. 

The Bride. 
As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, 

Is my love among the sons ; 
I sat down under his shadow with great delight. 

And his fruit was pleasant to my taste ; 
He brought me with him to the house of ban- 
queting, 
And his banner over me was love. 



A Royal Pastoral. 

Strengthen me with flagons, 
Comfort me with apples, 
For I am sick of love. 

that his left hand were under my head, 
And that his right hand did embrace me ! 

1 adjure you, daughters of Salem ! 

By the roes and by the hinds of the field, 
That ye stir not up nor awaken 
My Love, until he please. 

End of First Scene. 



SCENE SECOND. 



THE BRIDE'S CHAMBER. 



The Bride, the Chorus of Virgins. 

Monologue to the Chorus. 

The Bride. 
The sound of my beloved ! 
Behold ! behold he cometh, 
Leaping upon the mountains. 



A Royal Pastoral. 

My beloved cometh, 
Skipping upon the hills 

Like as a roe, 

Or a young hart. 

Lo ! he standeth behind our wall, 
He looketh in through the windows, 
Shewing himself at the lattice ; 
He speaketh unto me and saith : — 

Rise, my friend, my beautiful. 

Arise and come away ; 
For lo ! the winter is past. 
The rain is over and gone ; 
The flowers appear on the earth, 
The time for the pruning, is come. 
The voice of the turtle is heard, 
The fig-tree is sweetening her figs. 
The vine-blossom gives forth her smell ; 
Rise, my Love, my beautiful. 

Arise and come away. 
My dove in the clefts of the rocks. 
Hiding among the steep places. 
Thy countenance let me behold. 
The voice of thy song let me hear, 



A Royal Pastoral. 

For sweet is the voice of thy song, 
Thy countenance comely to see. 

Sings : 
Catch tis the foxes ^ 
Catch the little foxes, 
Wasting our vineyards 
While they are tender, — 
While they are blossoming. 

My beloved is mine and I am his 
He feedeth among the lilies. 

Until the day breathe cool — 
Until the shadows flee — 
Turn away, my belov'd, 
And be thou like a roe. 
Or like a young hart, 
On the mountains that divide us. 

By night, on my bed, I sought 
Him whom my soul loveth ; 
I sought him but I found him not. 
Come, I said, let me rise now, 
Let me go about the city, 



lo A Royal Pastoral. 

In the streets and in the broadways 
Seeking him whom my soul loveth : 
I sought him but I found him not. 

The watchmen that go about the city 
Found me seeking him whom my soul loveth 
Saw ye him, I said, whom my soul loveth ? 
But a little way had I passed from them 
When I found him whom my soul loveth ; 
I held him, and I would not let him go 
Until I brought him to my mother's house, 
Into her chamber that conceived me. 

Daughters of Jerusalem ! 

By the roes and by the hinds 
Of the fields, I charge ye, 
That ye stir not up, nor 

Waken love, until it please. 

End of Second Scene. 



A Royal Pastoral, li 



SCENE THIRD, 



THE ESPOUSALS. 



Chorus of Youths 
Describing the Wedding Procession. 

First. 

Who then is this ascending from the pastures, 
Up from the wilderness wrapped in clouds of 

smoke. 
Richly perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, 
Fragrant with all the spices of the merchant ? 

Second. 

Behold the royal couch of Solomon ! 
Threescore men of valor are about it, 
All men of might, all men expert in war. 
Each with his sword girded upon his thigh, 
Fearful of the frequent night alarum ! 



12 A Royal Pastoral. 

First. 

King Solomon hath made himself a chariot, 
A chariot of the wood of Lebanon ; 
And the pillars, its supports, are of silver. 
And the canopy and covering are of gold ; 
The seat is royal with a purple cushion. 
The bottom wrought with goodly tapestry 
By the fair daughters of Jerusalem. 

AIL 

Come forth, O Zion's daughters, and behold 
King Solomon, glad in his nuptial crown, 
Wherewith his mother crowned him in the day 
Of his espousals and his heart's great gladness. 

The King. 

Meeting the Procession. 

Lo ! thou art beautiful, my Love, 
All fair, my Love, all beautiful ! 
Thine eyes are dove's behind thy veil ; 
Thy hair is as a flock of goats 
That couch upon Mount Gilead * 



A Royal Pastoral. 13 

Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep 
Coming up in pairs from washing ; 

Thy lips are like a scarlet thread, 
And comely is thy fragrant mouth ; 
And like a piece of pomegranate 
Thy cheeks appear behind thy veil. 
Thy neck is like King David's tower, 
Well builded for an armory. 
Whereon a thousand bucklers hang, 
The well-known shields of mighty men. 
Thy breasts are like two young twin roes 
That feed among the lilies sweet. 

The Bride. 
Until the day breathe cool — 
Until the shadows flee — 
Unto the mount of myrrh. 
The hill of frankincense, 
O, let me hie ! 

End of Scene Third, 



14 A Royal Pastor aL 



SCENE FOURTH. 



THE PALACE GARDEN— EVENING. 



The King, the Bride, Attendants. 

The King. 
Thou art all beautiful, my Love, 
And fair — there is no spot in thee ! 

Come now with me from Lebanon, 
With me from Lebanon, O Bride ! 
And with me shalt thou wander forth 
From Amana, from high Shenir, 
And look abroad from Hermon cool 
On the darkening dens of lions. 
On the mountain haunts of leopards. 

Sings. 
My sister, my Bride ! 
Thou hast ravished my heart ! 
With one glance of thine eyes, 
With one chain of thy neck, 



A Royal Pastoral, 15 

Thou hast ravished my heart. 
O how pleasant thy loves, 
How much better than wine ; 
The smell of thine ointments 
Is sweeter than spices, — 
More grateful than spices ; 
Thy lips distil sweetness, 

My sister, my Bride, 

For honey and milk 

Are under thy tongue, 
The smell of thy garments 
Is like Mount Lebanon. 

And a garden enclosed 
Is my sister, my Bride, 
And a spring shut up, 
And a fountain sealed ; 
A pomegranate orchard. 
With trees of pleasant fruits, — 
The henna and the spikenard, 
The calamus and saffron. 
The fragrant cinnamon, 
With trees of frankincense, 
The aloes and sweet myrrh. 
And of all spices chief. 



1 6 A Royal Pastoral. 

A garden full of fountains, 
A well of living waters, 
And streams from Lebanon. 



The Bride. 

Awake, O north wind ! 

And come, thou south wind ! 
Blow upon my garden. 
And diffuse the fragrance 

Of its spicery ; 
Let my Beloved come 
Early to his garden, 
And eat his pleasant fruits. 

The King. 

I have come to my garden, 

My sister, my Bride ; 
I have gathered my myrrh, 
I have gathered my spice, 
And my honeycomb sweet 
With my honey have eat. 
And have drunken my wine 
With my milk, O my Bride ! 



A Royal Pastoral. ij 

To his companions. 

Eat, O friends — drink, yea, drink, 
And fill yourselves with loves. 

End of Scene Fourth. 



[SCENE FIFTH. 



THE BRIDE'S CHAMBER — HER SECOND 
DREAM. 



The Bride, the Chorus of Virgins. 
Monologue to the Chorus. 

The Bride. 

I sleep, but my heart waketh — 
Hark ! my beloved knocketh — 
" Open to me, my sister, my Bride, 
My Love, my Dove, my undefiled. 
For my head is filled with the dew, 
My locks with the drops of the night." 



1 8 A Royal Pastoral. 

" I have put off my coat, 
How shall I put it on ? 
I have washed my feet, 
How shall I defile them ?" 

My Belov'd put his hand to the door. 

To him my desires were gone forth. 

When I rose up to open the door. 

My hands dropped with freshest of myrrh, 

My fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, 

Poured over the handles and lock ; — 

Then opened I to my belov'd. 

But he had withdrawn and was gone ; 

My soul had gone out as he spake ; 

I sought him, he could not be found, 

I called him, he answered me not. 

The watchmen that go through the city, 

They found me and smote me and hurt me ;- 

They took away from me my veil. 

Those watchmen upon the walls. 

She wakes. 

Daughters of Jerusalem ! 
I charge you, if ye find 



A Royal Pastoral. 19 

My friend — my beloved — 
This message ye shall bear, 
'' That I am sick of love." 

Chorus of Virgins. 
What is thy beloved more than another, 

O fairest among women ; 
What is thy beloved more than another, 

That thou dost so adjure us ? 

The Bride. 
My belov'd is white and ruddy, 
Among ten thousand, he is chief. 
His head is as the most fine gold, 
His locks are as the waving palm. 
His eyes are as the eyes of doves. 
Set fitly by the water streams ; 
Like beds of spices are his cheeks, 
Fair builded towers of sweet perfumes ; 
His lips like scarlet lilies are. 
Moist with the sweetly liquid myrrh ; 
His hands as gold with beryl set, 
His body bright as ivory. 
With sapphire wrought and laden o'er ; 
His legs as marble pillars are. 
On golden sockets firmly set ; 



20 A Royal Pastoral. 

His aspect, grand as Lebanon, 
As its tall cedars excellent ; 
His mouth bewitches every heart, 
And to him are my fond desires. 

This my beloved— this my friend, 
O daughters of Jerusalem ! 

The Chorus. 
Whither is thy beloved gone, 

O thou fairest among women ! 
Whither is he turned aside. 

That we may seek him with thee ? 

The Bride. 
My beloved has gone to his garden, 
Among beds of sweet spices to wander, 
To feed on the fruits of his garden. 
To gather the sweet smelling lilies ; 
My beloved is mine — I am his, 
He feedeth among the sweet lilies. 

Enter The King. 
Thou art fair, my Love, as Tirzah, 
Thou art comely as Jerusalem, 



A Royal Pastoral. 21 

And glorious as a bannered host. — 
Turn away thy bright eyes from me, 
They consume me in their brightness ; 
Thy hair is as a flock of goats 
That couch upon Mount Gilead ; 
Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep, 
Coming up in pairs from washing, 
Whereof each one beareth twins. 
And no barren one among them ; 
Like a piece of ripe pomegranate 
Are thy cheeks behind thy veil. 

Of married Queens threescore, 
Of fourscore lawless loves, 
Of virgins numberless. 
One only is my Dove — 
My only perfect one — 
Her mother's loved one she — 
The darling of her heart — 
Thrice blest w^ho gave her birth ! 
The daughters gazed on her, 
And gazing, called her blest ; 
The Queens and lawless loves 
While gazing sang her praise. 

End of Fifth Scene. 



22 A Royal Pastoral. 



SCENE SIXTH. 



THE MORNING BREAKS— THE BRIDE COMES 
FORTH. 



The Chorus. 

Who then is this with glances like the dawn, 
Fair as the silver moon, 
Bright as the noonday sun, 

And awe-inspiring as a bannered host ? 

The Bride. 

One who went down into the walnut garden. 
The coming fruits to see, and blooming apple- 
trees, 
Watching the vine open its tender blossoms. 
And the pomegranate-tree bursting into bud : 
There was my soul awakened from its slumber — 
There was my heart filled with the fire of love — 
There unawares my virgin charms had made me 
The chariot of a people of renown. 



A Royal Pastoral. 23 

The Chorus. 

Return ! return ! O Shulamite, return ! 
Return, that we may look upon thee more ! 

The Bride. 
What will ye with the Shulamite ? 

The Chorus. 
The sacred dance of Mahanaim. 

She Dances, 

The Chorus. 

How dainty are thy sandal'd feet, 
O daughter of a princely house ! 
Thy joints are set like jewels rare. 
The cunning craftman's handy work ; 
Thy girdle bears a moon-shap'd bowl, 
Where wine well mixed shall never fail ; 
Thy body is a heap of wheat 
Covered and set with lilies sweet ; 

Thy neck a tower of ivory ; 

Thine eyes like Heshbon's sparkling pools, 

Bath-Rabbim's gateways close beside ; 



24 A Royal Pastoral. 

Thy brow like Lebanon's high tower, 
Which toward Damascus looketh down ; 
Thy stately head like Carmel's mount, 
Whose hair, with rich and purple tint, 
A King within its tresses binds. 

Enter The King. 
How fair and what a charm hast thou, 

Love ! amid delightsome things ! 
Thy stature like the stately palm — 
Thy charms like clusters of the grape. 

1 will approach the stately palm — 

I will embrace the boughs thereof — 
Thy charms like clustering grapes shall be- 
Thy breath like apples breathing sweet — 
Thy mouth distil the best of wine 

The Bride. 
For my Belov'd, that floweth sweetly. 
Causing the lips that sleep to speak. 

I am my Beloved's ; his desire is toward me. 

Come, my Beloved, hie we to the fields. 
Let us lodge there in the villages — 



A Royal Pastoral. 25 

Let us go up early to the vineyards — 

Let us see if the vine flourishes, 

Whether the vine-blossom has opened, 

And the pomegranate be yet in flower : — 

There my caresses will I give to thee ! 

Now yield the mandrakes their spicy fragrance, 

And at our gate is every choicest fruit, 

The new, the old, laid up in store for thee. 

O that thou wert to me of near kindred. 

Then would I find thee, then would I kiss thee. 
Then would I bring thee to my mother's house ; 
There shouldst thou teach me passionate caresses, 
There shouldst thou drink spiced wine of my 
pomegranate. 

To the Chorus. 

May his left hand be under my head, 
And ma)^ his right hand embrace me. 

I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem ! 
That ye stir not up nor waken 
My Love, until he please. 

End of Sixth Scene^ 



26 A Royal Pastoral. 



SCENE SEVENTH. 



THE BRIDE'S HOUSE. 



The King, the Bride, the Chorus of Vir- 
gins, THE Bride's Brothers. 

The Chorus. 
Who cometh up from the wilderness, 
Leaning on her Beloved ? 

The King. 
Underneath this apple-tree I found thee, 
Within its shade first wakened thee to love. 
Here received thee from her hand who bare thee, 
Received thee here from her who brought thee 
forth. 

The Bride, 
Set me as a seal upon thy heart — 
Set me as a seal upon thy arm — 
For cruel as the grave is jealousy ! 



A Royal Pastoral. 27 

But strong as death is love, 
Its flames are flames of fire 
Whose most vehement heat 
Great waters cannot quench, 
Nor can the floods o'erwhelm. 

Though one should give his all 

In hope to buy such love, 

With scorn would he be scorned ! 

Set me as a seal upon thy heart— 

Set me as a seal upon thy arm — 

For cruel as the grave is jealousy, 

And strong as death is love ! 

The Bride's Brothers. 

We have a little sister, 

All immature her charms — ■ 

What answer shall we give 

When the bridegroom calleth ? 

Then, if she be a wall, 

We will build upon her 

A palace of pure silver ; 

But if she be a door, 

Then wilLwe enclose her 

In a house of cedar. 



28 A Royal Pastorate. 

The Bride. 

Behold ! I am a wall, 

A tower my chastity ! 

Thus did I favor find 

In the eyes that sought me, 

And thus did I find peace, 

Peace with the peaceful one. 

Solomon had a vineyard, 
He let it out to keepers ; 
Every one was to bring him 
For his share of the vintage 
A thousand marks of silver. 

My vineyard, which is mine, 
I have still before me : 
Thou, Solomon, must have 
As thine the thousand pieces ; 
The keepers of the fruit 
Shall have but two hundred. 

The King. 

Thou that dwellest in the gardens ! 
Thy companions hear thy voice, — 
Cause me to hear it ! 



A Royal Pastoral. 29 

The Bride smgs. 
Make haste, my Beloved, make haste — 
Be like a roe or a young hart 
Upon the mountains of spices. 

Exeunt omnes. 



Ca \)mi to Santa (!Ilau0. 

This little poem was written for the amusement of my own 
children, and I offer it to the thousands of children to whom 
Christmas is a joyous season. All those for whom it was written 
are in Paradise. 

Come sit by the fireside, dearest, 

With wee Helen on your knee. 
While Maude draws up the foot-stool. 

And Hope abides with me ; 
A boy of the rarest promise, 

A girl full of childish glee. 
And prattling bright-eyed Helen, 

Making the magic three ; 
Three in the social circle. 

And Kate in the home above ; 
But here let us all be joyous. 

And there let us all be love. 



A Visit to Sa7ita Claus. 31 

'Tis now on the eve of Christmas, 

When the Saviour came on earth, 
'Twill soon be the gladsome hour 

That told of the glorious birth ; 
When the Star in the East was rising, 

And the Angel bands came forth, 
Proclaiming with sweet voices, 

Good will and peace on earth. 

When the air was filled with music, 
And the night was aglow with light. 

Which the shepherds saw with gladness, 
But the Kings with sore affright. 

They knew not then that Jesus, 

The glorious King of Kings, 
Sought not an earthly sceptre 

Which station with it brings ; 
Nor knew they that His kingdom 

Was not a spot of earth. 
But o'er the undying spirit, 

Cleansed by a second birth. 
He sought to rule, if, haply. 

The world the call would hear, 
And to His heavenly teaching 

Turn yet a listening ear. 



32 A Visit to Santa Claus. 

But now the world rejoices, 
The shepherds a?td the Kings, 

That God a pardon offers 

And Christ the pardon brings ! 

So that is the reason, Papa, 
Said little wondering Maude, 

We should all be glad at Christmas 
And send good things abroad. 

And that is the reason. Papa, 

Said Hope, with brightening eye, 
That Santa Claus is coming 

With good things by and by ; 
And now you said you'd tell us 

How you went, the other night, 
To Santa Claus' workshop 

To see if my sled was right ; 
And to speak for a doll for Maude 

That could open and shut its eyes, 
And about the many pretty things 

He made for the girls and boys. 

I'll tell you the story briefly, 
And then you must off to bed, 

For Santa Claus will be coming 
With a load upon your sled ; 



A Visit to Santa CI aits. 33 

And if you still are watching 

I fear he may go by, 
For he's a curious fellow, 

And does things on the sly. 
So all began to listen, 

And the kitten oped her eyes 
And gazed around the circle 

With an innocent surprise. 
Across her drowsy eyelids 

The nimble cricket ran. 
And in the general silence 

The story thus began. 

On a dark and cloudy night, 

With a howling northeast storm. 
Not a star to give me light, 

Nor a cloak to keep me warm, 
Not a path to guide my feet 
To Saint Nicholas' retreat, 
Up the dark and lonesome ravine 

Step by step I picked my way, 
By a little murmuring runlet 

I had often tracked by day. 
And which led to Santa Clans', 

I had heard my grandpa say. 



34 A Visit to Santa Clans. 

For this was the only evening 

In the whole revolving year 
His deep-hidden mountain home 

To a mortal would appear. 
'Twas the nrght of Hallowe'en, 
Night on which strange things are seen 
And it was on Friday, too, 

Saddest day of all the seven, 
And the moon was in the wane, 

And the hour beyond eleven ! 
Fearful night ! on every hillside 

Troops of fairies dance and sing, 
And with sound of merry music 

Charm the mortal to the ring ; 
Witches ride upon the broomstick, 

Wizards conjure visions dire, 
Warlocks revel in the tempest 

Every moment growing higher ; 
Bird and beast are ill at ease, 

Screams are heard in upper air, 
Voices whisper in the trees. 

Life and sound are everywhere ; — 
But the darkness and the bluster 

Hide the shapes from human eye, 
Though you feel them every moment 



A Visit to Santa Clans. 35 

As they sv/iftly hurry by. 
You must choose, he always said, 
Such a night, so drear and dread ; 
If it should be calm and still, 
All is darkness on the hill, 
And no mortal man can find 
Cave of Santa Claus the kind. 
But when fierce and swift the wind 
Drives the dark storm-cloud along, 
And still blacker grows the night 
And more loud the tempest's song, 
Then a little light, they say, 
Points the traveller on his way. 

So I started for the mountains, 

Where, I heard, old Santa Claus, 
Deep within a rocky cavern, 

All secure from colds and thaws, 
Daily, with unceasing labor. 

Wrought the constant livelong year, 
Just to give the prattling youngsters 

Their merry Christmas cheer. 
I stumbled o'er the boulders, 

I slipped upon the ice ; 
The owls all fell to hooting, 

And I thought that in a trice 



36 A Visit to Santa Claus. 

They would perch upon my shoulders, 

Flap their wings about my ears, 
Call their old familiar goblin 

From the hollow haunted tree, 
And drive me from the mountain, 

So I should not get to see 
Old Santa Claus' castle 

And his team of eight reindeers. 

I stood and peered around me, 

And far up the rocky glen 
I saw a glimmering taper. 

So I travelled on again. 
An hour or more I battled. 

And the storm still louder blew, 
Until full faint and weary 

With the lengthened way I grew ; 
The light still danced before me, 

And the owls kept up their cry. 
And the pine trees' swaying branches 

Moaning as the wind swept by, 
Made the path more wild and eerie 
And the night more dread and dreary. 

And the topmost branches broke 

From the brittle chestnut oak. 



A Visit to Santa Clans. 37 

But I struggled on amain 
Through the cold and pelting rain ; 
And the light, which like a star 
Twinkled, twinkled from afar, 
As I nearer to it came 
Seemed to burn with steadier flame. 
I crept forward quietly, 

Over log and rut and stone. 
Thought I saw the rocky doorway 

Whence the little taper shown, 
When an owl, with great ado, 
Flapped his wings and cried, " T'whoo ! " 

The light went out— alone I stood, 
Wet and weary, in the wood ; 
And I called with all my might, 
Santa Claus ! please make a light !" 
Still the owl around me flew, 
Screaming out, '' T'whit ! t'whoo ! " 
Ere 1 had a minute stood, 
Santa Claus, the kind and good, 

Wondering at the rout and din, 
Came with torch of rich pine wood 

And politely asked m.e in ; 
And the owl, with staring eyes. 



38 A Visit to Santa Clans. 

Seeming as in great surprise, 
To his hollow tree once more, 
Close beside the cavern door, 
Staring at me still, withdrew, 
Settled down, and said " T'whoo ! " 

So beside a rousing fire 

Santa Claus and I sat down, 
And I warmed my toes and fingers, 

And he asked about the town ; 
Wondered who had little babies 

Old enough to play with toys, 
Said he knew about the other. 

Bigger little girls and boys. 
He had piles of sleds and things 
Hanging in his little shop, 
Which he said he meant to trade 
For some things he never made. 
So there would be variety 
On the welcome Christmas-tree. 

Then he pointed out the sleigh 
That he rode in, on his way 
Round the world on Christmas eve. 
Lined with furs and snug and tight ; 



A Visit to Santa Claus. 39 

Then the stable came in view 
Where the little reindeers were, 

And they stamped and snorted too 
When they saw a stranger near, 

And their little eyes looked bright 

In the blazing pine-torch light. 

Santa Claus just shook his finger 

And they stood as still as mice, 
So we passed along behind them 

To a little room so nice ; 
And there, very busy knitting, 
Mrs. Santa Claus was sitting. 
And around were dolls and mittens. 
Waxen dogs and sugar kittens. 
Lots of ribbons, braids, and laces, 
Albums, music-boxes, vases — 
Everything, and ten times more 
Than you'd think of in an hour. 

So she handed me a chair 

Close beside the chimney fire. 
And of all the men and maidens 

In the town she did inquire ; 



40 A Visit to Sa7ita Clans. 

Asked me who were getting married, 

What the winter fashions were ; 
Calling for a full description 

Of the modern female wear — 
Flounces^ nets, hoop-skirts, and laces, 

She could understand them all : 
But I had a dreadful trouble 

To explain the '' waterfall ; "' 
And when to another feature 
• The description did extend, 
And I tried to give a notion 

Of a full-grown " Grecian bend,''' 
Just to see the dear good lady, 

With her fine, expressive face. 
Smiling half, and half resenting 

Fashions going such a pace — 
And old Santa Glaus, the jovial. 

With his pipe between his teeth. 
While around his head v/as curling 

From its bowl a beauteous wreath ; 
One eye shut and t'other winking 

Kindly at me through the smoke 
As if he was surely thinking 

What a most tremendous joke 
I was telling the old ladv — 



A Visit to Santa Claus. 41 

Was a picture, I can tell you, 
Such as you may never see : 

But I urged that it was true, 
And no joke at all of mine ; 
But he only winked the more. 
Rolling o'er the parlor floor. 
Laughing till his sides were sore. 

Much to talk did he incline. 
So he ordered up some wine. 
Cakes, and nuts, and apples too ; 
And as well-bred people do, 
Drink, said he, and eat your fill. 
For the night is damp and chill. 
And there's many a weary mile 

Of rock and ravine to be strode 
Ere you reach the little stile 

Leading to the Bloomsburg road. 
So we had a merry chat, 
Talked of this and then of that ; 
But at last the clock struck two. 
And I knew it would not do 
To be seen on morning chill 
On old Santa Claus' hill : 
So I buttoned up my coat 



42 A Visit to Santa Claus, 

Close around my breast and throat, 
Drew ray cap about my ears, 

Turned to bid them all *' Good-night "- 
Out went the light — 
Alone I stood 

In the dark and lonesome wood, 
And the owl, with staring eyes, 

Santa Claus' watchman he, 

Peering from his hollow tree, 

Flaps his wings again and cries, 

*' T'whit ! t'whit ! t'whoo-oo-oo ! " 

For a moment I stood still. 
Scarcely knowing what to do ; 

Then I started down the hill, 

And along the rocky glen. 

As I travelled home again, 

Sending through me many a chill. 

Came the cry, so harsh and chill. 
Of the owl's ''T'whit ! t'whoo-o-o ! " 



Saint t)aUntine'0 ?Dag. 

In times whereof man's memory 

Doth not contrary run, 
The festive sporting of this day 

Already had begun. 
On England's shores, on Scotland's hills, 

In France's sunny vales, 
The custom has long since prevailed — 

Aye, and it now prevails. 
Now many an eye is sonneted. 

And many a ringlet sung, 
And tokens of respect and love 

Are sent from old and young ; 
For man learned of the birds that choose 

A mate upon this day. 
And now trim up their ruffled plumes 

And once again look gay. 
Although for months unused to sing, 

Kind nature breaks the spell. 
The love and hope so long pent up — 
How aptly they will tell ; 



44 Saint Valenti7ie s Day. 

With arching neck, and roguish eye, 
And plumage spruce and fine, 

With soft and gently cooing voice 
They sing a Valentine. 

What pretty coquetry is there, 

And with what female art 
The coy young birdiings seek the grove 

And guard the yielding heart ; 
And though they hear, will not attend 

Their lover's glowing strain. 
But, busied with a ruffled plume, 

Affect a slight disdain ; 
And careless thus to wound a heart 

With coquetry, they dare 
To ask another young gallant 

The boon of love to share. 
With glossy neck, and leering eye, 

And feathers flaunting gay, 
They hop about from branch to branch 

And make a grand display ; 
With graceful motion, easy mien. 

Yet coy and bashful glance, 
In the deep woods they hide their charms 

As if by merest chance : 



Saint Valentme' s Day. 45 

The bough that half conceals the form 

Lays open the design, 
Which is, in truth, to coax a youth 

To sing a Valentine. 

But whether birds all know this fact 

I can't pretend to say ; 
I wish they did— 'twould give them great 

Success throughout the day ; 
And since we see the female kind 

Undoubted art employ, 
'Tis only fair to predicate 

That all know how to toy. 
Now all the arts Dame Nature taught 

By each is brought to bear — 
A symmetry of face and form 

Is prayed for by the fair ; 
And though they may coquette at noon, 

By eve that mood is past, 
For those who take not mates to-day 

Must die old maids at last 
So though despair awhile may cast 

The gallant suitors down, 
Yet in the end love with success 

Will all their trials crown. 



46 Saifit Valentine s Day. 

And thus we see upon this day 

'Tis Nature's grand design 
That those who love should tell their love 

And choose a Valentine. 

From Nature thus mankind have learned 

The uses of the day^ 
And many a missive charged with love 

Is speeding on its way^ 
And many a nameless billet-doux^ 

By fairy fingers penned^ 
Makes the blood tingle in the veins 

Of lover or of friend. 
The timid wooer tells his tale^ 

The bashful maid can write — 
Feelings long pent within the breast 

This day brings forth to light ; 
For each one has the privilege 

The plaintive verse to twine. 
And from the fairest^ noblest ones 

To choose a Valentine. 

The love a maiden dare not speak 

Can thus be all confessed, 
And sentiments but now made knowo 

May warm a mutual breast \ 



Saint Valentine s Day. 47 

And Cupid has throughout the land 

Devices quaint and rare 
By which this secret of the heart 

Is told by ladies fair. 
Two billing doves, two pierced hearts 

The tale of love can tell, 
A little line, a simple word 

Can make the bosom swell ; 
A rosebud will a flame declare, 

But do not lightly twine 
A sprig of myrtle in a wreath 

That asks a Valentine. 

'Tis thus the frolic birds of air 

Upon this sacred day 
Choose a companion who shall drive 

The cares of life away. 
With whom to spend the summer months 

Till winter comes again. 
But part to meet no more on earth 

Ere bleak December's rain. 
But not so will I choose my love — 

We never more will part : 
In heat or cold I'll wear her 

Ever nearest to my heart ' 



48 Saint Valentine s Day. 

For if she will but bless my suit 
I'll never more repine, 

And from that day forever forth 
Will be her Valentine. 



The Valentine. 

Not only in the spring of life, 

When young and gay, 
Thy ruby lips with kisses rife 

Are Cupid's stay ; 
Not only when the blushing rose 

Strives in thy cheek. 
Not only when thy bright eye glows 

Thy love I seek. 

But when December's snow and rain 

O'ercloud the sky, 
To thee, as in the spring, again 

I'd gladly fly ; 
Not like the birds, when summer's o'er 

Would I resign 
One who long cheered the sultry hour- 

My Valentine. 



i)aiiit« of (3vtatnts5, 

Peace, commerce, arts ! long may your cares 

beguile. 
And ripening crops along the valleys smile, 
And Nature answering culture kindly give 
With an unsparing hand the means to live ; 
Beneath your sway no shrilly sounding horn 
Wakes with its early noise the breezy morn ; 
No rumbling drum, nor cannon fraught with 

death, 
Strikes the quick ear or takes the laboring 

breath ; 
But the shrill cock proclaims the infant day 
When in the East the clouds look scarcely gray. 
No longer does the sun from mountain height 
Shed his first beams on bayonets sparkling bright, 
But kindly pours upon the smiling land 
Fruits, flowers, and blessings with a liberal hand. 
3 



50 Vanity of Greatness. 

Say, is he happier, did we know the heart, 
Who leans on others for his sole support, 
Than the bold man who independent stands 
And by his labor tills his generous lands ? 
Who knows no wants but those which nature 

knows, 
Who flatters not his friends nor fears his foes ? 
No : Nature will reverse no one decree — 
He is a freeman whom the truth makes free ; 
And he is happiest who supports himself, 
Both unambitious of renown or pelf, 
Nor asks for homage in the motley crowd 
Where heads most empty always are most loud. 

Can sounding titles and an empty name 
Blunt the sharp shaft the sons of envy aim, 
Smooth the rough pillow, racking pains assuage, 
Or keep aloof the iron hand of age ? 
Will never pain or sickness cloud the brow 
That glitters with the diamond brightly now ? 
Beneath that smile is there no secret woe, 
Or does rank chase all ills from all below ? 
No : let his titles sound however high. 
The winged taunt and slander round them fly ; 
Eternal torment and unreasoning hate 
Are both companions of unwieldy state, 



Vanity of Greatness. 51 

And whether merit or a bribe has raised, 
He still by some is flouted, some is praised. 
Nor is he happier who, to greatness born, 
Fails in his place and reaps the world's wild scorn ; 
Far better he who, having nobly dared, 
Proves the divinity the race has shared. 
The world's great chieftain, when the world 
was gained,' 
Wept as he thought no other one remained ; 
Wept as he saw his labor at an end. 
And nothing left to conquer or defend. 
What charms for him had other life than war. 
Unused from youth to guide the civic car ? 
The soaring warrior, fell at once to earth, 
Proved to the world the baseness of his birth ; 
He seized the bowl, and in debauch expired 
That conquering spirit which the world had fired ; 
He seized the bowl and gave his mighty mind 
To pleasure and to riot unconfined : 
He who in life had sternly sought and won 
A wider empire than his Macedon, 
What joys to him did all his victories bring — 
What better is the world that he was king ? 
He left a large, corrupt, unwieldy state. 
Cool friends, warm enemies, the \\\Xq great ! 



52 Vanity of Greatness. 

When England's Queen, the haughty and the 

proud, 
By age, by sickness, and by grief was bowed. 
Though long she swayed, with an imperious 

hand 
And lofty brow, the sceptre of command ; 
Though she had made a name without decay, 
Revered for deeds that cannot fade away — 
When Death, the monarch, brooked no more 

delay. 
She would have given an empire for a day. 
*' Oh," she exclaimed, as died the clock's sad 

chime, 
" I would give millions for an inch of time ! " 
Count ye that fabulous which gossips tell. 
That she had loved, not wisely, but too well — 
That Essex' fate weighed her worn spirit down, ' 
And she must feel a love she dared not own, 
And while a foe kept back the fatal ring 
Of unrequited love she felt the sting ; 
Vowed fell revenge, and played a sovereign's 

part. 
Sad, sighing, signed, but signed with broken 

heart ; 
That when he fell, and honor's flag was furled, 



Vanity of Greatness. 53 

The last cord snapt that bound her to the world ; 

Crying in anguish o'er the well-laid plot, 

" May God forgive you, Countess, I cannot ? " 

Behold the bold adventurer of France, 
Whose nod the world but waited to advance ; 
Whose sharp eye glanced along the dusty plain 
And counted thousands by his orders slain ; 
He at whose name old men forgot their years 
And shouted, ''Vive I'Empereur!" with joyous 

tears ; 
Held by the French the high, the mighty mind. 
The great grand climax of all human kind ; 
To whom to plan and conquer were the same, 
Whose spirit high disaster could not tame ; 
He fiercely tost upon the shoals is cast. 
Far from his chosen home he breathes his last ; 
With scarce a friendly hand to close his eyes, 
The first, great Emperor Napoleon dies ! 
He raves of empire with his latest breath. 
And proves the ruling passion strong in death. 
He dies, a life of care and toil is sped. 
And he is numbered with the glorious dead ; 
Above his dust let monuments arise, 
And with their glittering spires assault the skies ; 



54 Vanity of Greatness. 

Let a whole nation weep upon his hearse, 

And poets consecrate the epic verse ; 

Still shall the tear bedew the widow's cheek 

And mourn a name she hardly dares to speak ; 

Still must the orphan for a father sigh, 

And while smiles light his cheek tears dim his 

eye. 
And thus, though praised, caressed, beloved by 

all, 
From his great height he did a captive fall ; 
Unhappy he when in his towering pride, 
Consumed by wishes yet unsatisfied. 
And still unhappy, listening to the roar 
Of the great ocean on Helena's shore. 

And England's Charles could tell if there can 
be 
A life of greatness without misery. 
Born to a throne, he came in pomp and power 
To play upon the stage his fitful hour ; 
Unequal to his part he forth was led, 
Cursed, wept, and honored, to a gory bed ; 
And Cromwell rose and ruled the hapless land 
With verse and cant, and cimetar and brand, 
Yet ruled it ably. With a statesman's hand 



Vanity of Greatness. 55 

He sways the sceptre of supreme command, 
Fulfilling of his dream the high behest, 
''Although not King of England, still the best." 
Was the Protector happier in his lot 
Than plain and sturdy Cromwell ? I trow not. 
For when above an awe-struck land he swayed, 
Red with his sovereign's blood, his conquering 

blade. 
He feared the assassin's knife, the poisoner's 

bowl. 
Nor trusted those whom but their fears control. 
Not all the good he did the commonweal — 
And none have shown for it more honest zeal — 
Nor gloomy death, nor Milton's glowing pen, 
Could save his bones from hands of ruthless men 
When the great spirit soared from mortal ken. 

Thus all seek happiness. How few there be 
Who the right way among these windings see. 
It cannot be with him whose restless mind 
Is striving still to overtop mankind. 
Nor does he find it who has once attained 
The envied height and there till death remained ; 
E'en he has sighed for freedom and repose. 
And the low station whence at first he rose. 



56 Vajiity of Greatness. 

Though not to greatness is true bliss con- 
signed, 
It is not given to that barbarous hind 
Who knows no want beyond the present hour, 
And no superiority but power ; 
Whose low delights are sensual, not refined, 
Who has no joys in common with the mind ; 
For pleasure is not happiness. We know 
The one is common to all things below. 
The other to mankind alone is given, 
A pledge of immortality and heaven. ^ 

Nor is it found where want with mournful 
face 
Holds at the board his ever-present place. 
Poets may prate of love in cottage bred, 
A glass of water and a crust of bread, 
And paint, with all the fancy of the race, 
A walk by moonlight, and a pretty face, 
A flowery garden, sombre forest trees, 
The song of birds, the gentle evening breeze, 
And all the wondrous panoply of charms 
Their fine imagination breeds and warms ; 
Yet poverty, disguise it as they may. 
Brings far more griefs than joys in its array. 



Vanity of Greatness. 57 

Then wouldst thou know where happiness is 
found — 
In what bright region, on what hallowed ground, 
If not among the revels of the great, 
Enthroned in majesty and pomp and state, 
Nor where grim poverty, with pinching face. 
At sufferance lives, the pensioner of grace ? 
Then mark me well — this bliss 'tis yours to 

know — 
Who would be happy must make others so I 
And e'en a smile, a sigh, a kindly word, 
Full oft has gladness to the breast restored. 
It costs not to be kind — let kindness reign ; 
It doubles pleasure, lessens every pain. 
Relieve distress, and let your hand run o'er 
In generous kindness to the needy poor ; 
Thus when the joy of others you secure, 
Your happiness is thereby doubly sure. 

Content be with your lot, for God will care 
And kindly answer every heartfelt prayer ; 
He hears the raven's cry, and shall not He 
Supply your wants and your distresses see ? 
Still let your home of all the world be found 
The spot where smiles and wit and love abound. 
There let your kindness and your tone reveal 
3* 



58 Vanity of Greatness. 

That though a husband, you're a lover still ; 
For there alone true happiness shall dwell 
Where kindred spirits wisely love, and well. 
Scorn of parade and pomp the unmeaning noise, 
And seek in quiet home for purer joys, 
And there secure a pleasure unalloyed 
With selfish thoughts, unsated and uncloyed. 



@:l)e Buacl) of JPromi0e. 

Dan Cupid, passing by one day 
In musing mood more grave than gay, 
I, feeling greatly wronged and grieved, 
And by a neighbor much deceived, 
Begged him to be concerned for me 
And issue forth a praecipe, 
And bring to court without delay. 
By capias, one Maggie May ; 
And then proceeded to impart. 
With eyes suffused and beating heart. 
The various hurts and wrongs that she, 
For many years, had done to me. 
He took my statement and passed on, 
Saying that justice should be done ; 
That he would put in legal phrase 
My whole complaint ere many days, 
And nothing intermit or stay 
To bring to justice Maggie May. 



6o The Breach of Promise. 

Nor did he in the least defer. 
Before a month had passed around, 
Forth came his scented messenger 
With modest packet, silken bound, 
And, hid within its legal fold 
The writ of capias lay enrolled, 
Embossed with quaint devices rare, 
Formed to conciliate the fair 
And pleasant to the eyes to see : 
Two doves, two hearts, a canopy, 
A silver dart, a diamond ring, 
A house on fashion's avenue 
With church and opera in view. 
And many another beauteous thing 
Which wily Cupid knew full well 
Would make the female bosom swell. 
And making scarce a moment stay 
To serve the writ, passed on his way, 
But left with me the formal charge 
That Cupid had drawn out at large, 
And to be filed without delay. 
Whereby full justice should have play 
Against the wiles of Maggie May ; 
And thus did my attorney say : — 



The Breach of Promise. 6 1 

" Columbia County, double S., 
In County Court of Common Pleas, 
Number fifteen of Term of June, 
In eighteen hundred seventy-one. 

Miss Maggie May, a spinster gay, 
Was held to answer, sans delay. 
One Simon Lovesick of a plea 
Of trespass on the case upon 
Her promises, and wherefore she 
Hath borne herself so haughtily 
Toward the plaintifif : whereupon 
In the said court, in doleful strains, 
By Cupid, his attorney, he, 
Said Simon, of her thus complains. 

For that whereas said Maggie May 
Long heretofore, that is to say 
On February the fourteenth dav, 
In eighteen hundred sixty-nine. 
Much to said Simon did incline. 
Chose him to be her valentine, 
And more to bind him then and there 
Gave to him, of her golden hair, 
A well-wrought bracelet for his wear, 
And in the view of other girls 
Allowed his toying with her curls. 



62 The Breach of Promise. 

And when the party broke to go, 

To tie her ribbons in a bow, 

And as they through the moonlight went 

Upon his arm full kindly leant, 

And left her taper fingers stay 

Within his grasp the livelong way ; 

And though he often to his lips 

Pressed lovingly her finger tips, 

No rising frown could one espy, 

But downcast was her brilliant eye 

And flushed her cheek with crimson dye ; 

And in a certain sweet discourse 

Held then and there betwixt them two, 

When Simon asked her him to wed, 

The self-same Maggie aforesaid 

Promised, without or guile or force, 

When she should be required thereto, 

To go with Simon to the church, 

And there before the holy man. 

And eke a goodlie companie. 

To give and place her lily hand 

Within the sacred marriage band, 

And wear for aye the wedding ring 

Which Simon with him was to bring. 

But when required to name the day 



The Breach of Promise. 63 

The false and fickle Maggie May, 
Leaving said Simon in the lurch, 
Would always say her lover nay, 
While he hath ever had and still 
Firmly retains the self-same will 
His first said promise to fulfil. 

And afterward, that is to say, 
Upon the same aforesaid day, 
With the said Simon, her said beau, 
Beneath the sacred mistletoe 
Said Maggie willingly did go 
And pledge him, with a nectared kiss, 
To be thenceforth forever his, 
And him unto his dying day 
To love, and honor, and obey ; 
To him to give her hand and heart 
And never, never from him part ; 
But w^th her bridemaids to repair 
To parish church and meet him there. 
Upon that morning when the fair 
Early their sleepy couch eschew 
To bathe them in the May-day dew : 
And Simon there without delay 
Promised to meet said Maggie May, 



64 The Breach of Promise. 

On the aforesaid first of May, 
At parish church at dawn of day, 
And her to wed for aye and aye. 
And his aforesaid promise he, 
Said Simon, kept religiously ; 
And at the church at stated hour 
Arrived with chariot and four. 
And many friends had with him sped 
To see the lovesick Simon wed, 
And at the cliurch-door tarried long 
For the said Maggie and her throng. 
The surpliced priest was waiting there 
Clasping the Book of Common Prayer, 
And all the friends, maliciously, 
From sun to sun, that blessed day. 
With jeers and laughter staid to see 
Said Simon wed said Maggie May, 

Nevertheless, said Maggie May 
Upon the last aforesaid day, 
Did her said promise not regard. 
But falsified her plighted word 
And troth, in form aforesaid made. 
And all her promises gainsaid ; 
Designing, with a wicked heart, 



The Breach of Promise. 65 

Upon said Simon to impose, 

And never to perform the part 

She with him had agreed in those 

Delicious moments when they stood, 

With meeting lips and bounding blood, 

Beneath the sacred mistletoe 

On that said evening long ago ; 

But craftily and subtly 

Him to deceive intending, she 

Yet the said Simon hath not wed. 

As she was clearly bound to do 

By her said promise aforesaid. 

And although often afterward, \ 
That is to say the day and year 
Aforesaid, out of pure regard 
The aforesaid Simon did appear 
And humbly beg said Maggie May 
To name for them the nuptial day. 
She him to take as wedded spouse 
Still hath refused and doth refuse. 
Whereby a damage doth redound 
To Simon of ten thousand pound, 
And while his heart with anguish wrings, \ 
To ease the smart his suit he brings." 



llape of !I)cavbl)orgiL 



The ballad is founded upon an event of most melancholy im- 
portance to Ireland, if, as we are told by the Irish historians, it 
gave England the first opportunity of profiting by their dissen- 
sions and of subduing them. Ireland was at this time (about 
1160) divided into a number of petty principalities — five at least 
— each of which was governed by its own prince, sometimes 
hereditary, though more frequently gaining position by usurpa- 
tion and the power of the sword ; and over the whole reigned a 
monarch, generally elected by the chiefs of the different princi- 
palities. 

It may be easily imagined that the crown did not rest very firmly 
on the head of any one, and that rapine, murder, and bloodshed 
were the order of the day. With no power to restrain and no 
law to punish, might became right and the sword was king. 

Such was the state of affairs in Ireland when the events occurred 
which form the groundwork of the ballad. O'Halloran relates 
the circumstances as follows : "The King of Leinster had long 
conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, daughter of the 
King of Meath, and though she had been for some time married 
to O'Ruark, Prince of Breffni, yet it could not restrain his passion. 
They carried on a private correspondence, and she informed 
him that O'Ruark intended soon to go on a pilgrimage (an act 
of piety frequent in those days), and conjured him to embrace 
that opportunity of conveying her from a husband she detested to 
a lover she adored. MacMurchad too punctually obeyed the 
summons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of Ferns. 



Rape of Dearbhorgil. 6^ 

"The monarch, Roderick, espoused the cause of O'Ruark, and 
they drove MacMurchad from his dominions. He fled to Eng- 
land and obtained from Henry II. letters permitting any of his 
subjects to engage with MacMurchad in the enterprise against 
Ireland. A considerable force was soon mustered, and both 
parties prepared to take the field. Dissensions and bribes soon 
weakened the Irish ; and Roderick, finding himself unable to main- 
tain the combat, surrendered. It was a long time after, however, 
before the conquest was considered complete, but the English had 
gained a foothold, and there was not patriotism enough left to 
expel the ' ruthless invader. ' 

" While MacMurchad was in England Dearbhorgil entered the 
Convent of St. Bridget, at Kildare. MacMurchad died in the 
year 1171, four years after he had carried off the Princess of 
Breffni. O'Ruark was assassinated at a conference between him 
and Hugh de Lacy, by his own nephew, Gryffyth, in 1172." 

What gives to the Princess of Breffni this mood ? 

Why seeks she so often unblest solitude ? 

Prom morning till night on the turret she walks, 

She gazes on vacancy, vacantly talks, 

Or sings with low voice, as the day wears along, 

To calm her wrought spirit, some snatches of 

song; 
O'Ruark has far on a pilgrimage gone, 
And his lady now sighs in the castle alone. 

No one to console her, she pensively sees 

Birds courting their mates on the blossoming 

trees ; 
All nature looks gay in the flowering spring — 



68 Rape of Dearbhorgil. 

The insects, bedizened with gold, are on wing ; 
The butterfly tribe sport from flower to flower, 
In pleasure and love pass the sunshiny hour ; 
But O'Ruark has far on a pilgrimage gone, 
And his lady now sighs in the castle alone. 

'Tis sad thus to count every hour of the day. 
And then think of weeks when one's love is 

away ; 
When the sun in the evening sinks down in the 

West, 
How sweet in the arms of a dear one to rest : 
No wonder the lady so pensively roved, 
For absent was he whom she tenderly loved ; 
O'Ruark had far on a pilgrimage gone, 
And Dearbhorgil now sighed in the castle alone. 

Oh does she so speedily wish his return ? 
For him does her eye now so languidly burn ? 
Is it grief that has faded the rose on her cheek ? 
Do watching and weeping their wild work here 

speak ? 
'Tis watching, 'tis weeping, anxiety, care. 
That give to the lady so restless an air ; 
For O'Ruark has far on a pilgrimage gone. 
And Dearbhorgil now sighs in the castle alone. 



Rape of Dearbhoj'gil. 6g 

What flushes her cheek as she looks o'er the 

plain ? 
What brightens her eye ? 'tis that cavalier train 
That gaily caparisoned rides through the wood, 
Which changes so quickly the fair lady's mood. 
The foremost rides fleetly, his steed is well tried, 
A chaperoned palfrey is led by its side : 
O'Ruark has far on a pilgrimage gone. 
And Dearbhorgil now sighs in the castle alone. 

She waves him her kerchief, the signal he knows, 
And straight to the hall of the castle he goes, 
Unbinds the gay palfrey and carelessly throws 
The rein on its neck, all regardless of foes ; 
Dismounting he raps with the hilt of his sword 
And calls to the warder, *' Ho ! where is thy 

lord ? " 
*' O'Ruark has far on a pilgrimage gone, 
And my lady now sighs in the castle alone." 

" Then call me thy lady," thus spoke the bold 

chief, 
MacMurchad of Leinster. ** Be prompt and be 

brief. 
My retainers are yonder, and here is my sword." 



70 Rape of Dearbhorgil. 

Throughout the whole castle like fire flew the 

word, 
^'MacMurchad is waiting below at the hall — 
Send thither the guardsmen and arm one and all ; 
For our lord has afar on a pilgrimage gone, 
And our lady shall sigh in the castle alone." 

The lady came not : he impatiently blew 
A note on his bugle ; a squire to him flew ; 
He flung him the reins, then strode to the hall ; 
The lady was ready and waiting his call ; 
The guard circle round her, he reaches the door, 
And two of the foremost lie stiff in their gore ; 
All their efforts are vain, for Dearbhorgil is gone. 
And O'Ruark may sigh in his castle alone. 

O lightly, I ween, to the saddle she sprung. 

On the neck of her courser the reins loosely 

hung ; 
They waved an adieu as they rode from the door ; 
O'Ruark shall see his young bride nevermore. 
For swiftly in flight over hillside and plain 
Their steeds bravely bear them ; pursuit is in vain ; 
Their retainers are near them, for valor enrolled : 
" Those who join us shall stay," says MacMur- 

chad the bold. 



Rape of Dearhhorgil. 71 

And though there was arming for fight to prepare, 
O'Ruark was absent — ah ! would he were there ; 
Not then had Dearbhorgil forgotten her vows, 
MacMurchad in triumph not borne off his spouse. 
Throughout his dominions beloved and revered. 
The brave Prince of Breffni by f oemen was feared ; 
High feats of his prowess in arms have been told. 
But little of this recked MacMurchad the bold. 

Now quickly their steeds the O'Ruarks bestrode, 
Some followed MacMurchad, to the monarch 

some rode. 
And a faithful retainer soon hurried away 
To relate to O'Ruark the deeds of the day, 
Who from his devotions full quickly returns 
To marshal his bands and march to the Ferns ; 
But the spies hovering round him his doings un- 
fold— 
'* Let him come with his clan," says MacMurchad 
the bold. 

The King sent a courier to Leinster to say 
MacMurchad should answer and not make delay, 
Should give up his bride to O'Ruark again, 
And make reparation most fully, in pain 



72 Rape of Dearbhorgil. 

Of the monarch's displeasure, who sought to re- 
strain 
The lawless, licentious, and wished to maintain 
Both morals and government pure as of old — 
"I shall keep my young bride," says MacMur- 
chad the bold. 

At cnce to the rescue most willingly flew, 

To aid brave O'Ruark, the pure and the true ; 

The prayers of virtue ascended for him, 

And husbands and fathers with anguish looked 

grim, 
And Roderick, the King, with his followers came 
And marched over Leinster with sword and with 

flame, 
And now, as his army the allies enfold. 
Fast flies from his country MacMurchad the bold. 

To Henry of England the traitor now hies. 
While O'Ruark is watched by retainers and spies, 
And Henry soon granted the succor desired, 
At once with the conquest of Erin inspired : 
Though the King and O'Ruark are still in the 

field. 
And justice is theirs, in the end they must yield. 



Rape of DearbJiorgiL 73 

For backed by his hirelings and flushed with his 

gold, 
Returns to his country MacMurchad the bold. 

It boots not to tell of the deeds that were done, 
How freely the blood of the patriots run, 
At last how dissensions their councils divide, 
Forgotten was honor, and country, and pride , 
How the banner of green at last trailed in the 

dust. 
How base England triumphed, unrighteous, un- 
just. 
How Ireland was conquered by treason and gold, 
Dearbhorgil the frail and MacMurchad the bold. 



!Dc0tinij. 
A Portuguese Tradition. 

There is a tradition among the Portuguese that certain precious 
stones rule particular months, and confer upon persons born un- 
der their influence certain qualities of body and of mind. Ac- 
cording to the authority before us, they are connected in the 
following manner : 

January Jasper Constancy and fidelity. 

February. .. .^w^Mjj/. This stone preserves from 

strong passions, and in- 
sures peace of mind, 

March Bloodstone Insures courage and success 

in hazardous enterprises. 

April SaJ>phire Diamond. . . Repentance and innocence. 

May Emerald Success in love. 

June Legate Long life and health. 

July Cornelian Ruby The forgetfulness of evils 

arising from broken friend- 
ship or faithless love. 

August Sardonyx Conjugal fidelity. 

September. . . Chrysolite Preserves from or cures 

folly. 

October Opal Misfortune and hope. 

November Topaz Fidelity in friendship. 

Dsjcember Turquoise The most brilliant success in 

every enterprise or cir- 
cumstance in life. " He 
who possesses a Turquoise 
is always sure of his 
friends." 



Destiny. 75 

It has been said that life's a dream, 

And things are not just what they seem, 

And that, indeed, we only think 

We dress ourselves, or take a drink ; 

That we are all somnambulists, 

That everything by chance exists. 

And not a mortal e'er can know 

Whence he hath come or where he'll go ; 

That well may we say '• Mother Earth," 

Upon whose breast we had our birth, 

A monster, living, breathing thing. 

Forever rolling in a ring. 

Whilst we are animalculae, 

Mere little creatures of a day ! 

But be that as it may, we see 

Man has a ruling destiny. 

In proof of which the spangled sky 

Spreads to our eyes her lights on high, 

And when bright science raised the veil 

Astrology could tell a tale. 

And drawing knowledge from afar 

Reveal a fate in every star. 

But it is not by stars alone 

The destiny of man is known. 

For the dark mine holds many a gem 



']6 Destiny. 

Potent the ills of life to stem, 

And every month has some one stone 

By fate selected as its own — 

A talisman the good to guard, 

A charm the ills of life to ward. 



She who is born when the young year, 

Just starting, springs from chaos' arms, 
Receives 2i Jasper bright and clear, 

Patron of virtue's highest charms. 
Implicitly rely on her ; 

A bright example shall she be, 
For this upon her shall confer 

Fidelity and constancy. 



The second month is joined by fate 

With amethyst of violet hue. 
And if thou here wouldst seek a mate, 

I warrant her a partner true. 
To these no fickle airs belong, 

They are not foolish, harsh, unkind ; 
This stone secures from passions strong, 

And grants them peace of mind. 



Destiny, TJ 

III. 
Wouldst thou seek one courageous, firm. 

One to protect when dangers lower, 
One in decision prompt and stern, 

Yet kind with all his power ? 
The third month and the bright Bloodstone 

Insure both courage and success. 
Seek him : when to his arms thou'st flown, 

Thou ne'er wilt love him less. 

IV. 

The Sapphire Diamond reigns supreme 

O'er the fourth month of every year, 
And he will still preserve esteem 

Who dates his birthday here. 
He will repent all evils done, 

And kindness will dispense, 
And truly at your feet lay down 

A heart of innocence. 

V. 

Know'st thou a mind pure, firm, and true, 
A mind of strength and worth ? 

Wouldst thou possess this jewel too, 
Found seldom on this earth ? 



78 Destiny. 

Go, seek with hope — the Emerald's thine- 

Go, all thy doubts remove ; 
It is the earnest and the sign 

Of full success in love. 



VI. 

Say, dost thou wish for life and health, 

The pleasures which on them await ? 
The comforts and the joys of wealth 

Which still attend the great, 
That when old age has bared thy head. 

Thy limbs should yet feel youth ? 
Rejoice that thus thy lot has sped, — 

The Legate gives them both. 

VII. 

If thou hast loved with all thy soul. 

As young and artless beings love. 
And been deceived, shake off control — 

The Ruby all thy care removes. 
How deep soe'er the sting has gone 

Thy talisman can heal the smart. 
For with it comes, when all have flown, 

Forgetfulness of heart. 



Destmy, jg 

VIII. 

A faithful and a loving mate 

Is better than the brightest gem 
That in the pride of sovereign state 

Glitters in regal diadem. 
Wouldst thou have such to share thy heart ? 

Then in this month thy search should be ; 
Here doth the Sardonyx impart 

True conjugal fidelity. 

IX. 

If thou by any froward deed 

Flast caused a tender heart to break, 
By inadvertence made to bleed 

A tender bosom for thy sake, 
Take courage yet — bear up in spite 

Of the dark brow of melancholy : 
The triumph's thine — the Chrysolite 

Completely cures from folly. 



Has stern misfortune weighed thee down. 
And pressed thee with a heavy hand ? 

Bear up beneath her boding frown ; 
Let faith and love thy hope expand. 



So Destiny. 

The Opal guides thy course in life, 

Gives power with all its storms to cope, 

And says, in tumult and in strife, 
And in misfortune, hope. 

XI. 

Wouldst have a friend more kind and true 

In cheerless poverty than power, 
Whose bands of friendship closer drew 

As more the tempests lower ? 
Seek him upon whose natal hour 

Her yellow light the Topaz threw. 
For in that heart thou'lt find a dower 

Richer than all Peru. 

XII. 

But thou art he o'er whose charmed life 

The gems have thrown the brightest fate, 
The truest friends, the kindest wife, 

Success in enterprises great. 
Thine is the Turquoise— ^o, thy friends 

Will ne'er desert— thy life shall be 
Bright as the sun when he ascends, 

Calm as his setting on the sea. 



A Historical Ballad. 

The subject of this ballad is an incident in the early history of 
England. The Romans, after having been masters of Britain 
nearly four hundred years, in the reign of the Emperor Valen- 
tinian, abandoned the island, having been rather forced to take 
this step, however, by the Picts and Scots, who were increasing 
in numbers in proportion as the forces of the Romans decreased. 
This was about the year of our Lord 447. The Britons, now left 
alone, were unable to defend themselves from the attacks of their 
Northern enemies, and fled for shelter to the woods and moun- 
_lains. 

In this deplorable state they had recourse to the Saxons, one 
of the most formidable of the nations of Germany. In conse- 
quence of the solemn invitation of Vortigern, who was at that 
time King of Britain, they, the Saxons, came to the assistance of 
the distressed islanders with a body of fifteen hundred men, 
under the command of two warlike brothers, Hengist and Horsa. 
The Saxons landed on the Isle of Thanet. The allies presently 
succeeded in driving their enemies beyond the borders of Britain. 
This was no sooner accomplished than the Saxons began to turn 
their own eyes toward the conquest of the rescued country. 
Accordingly a fresh supply of five thousand men, in seventeen 
vessels, passed over and succeeded in making a permanent estab- 
lishment on the island. One of the reasons given by the British 
historians for the easy conquest of their country is the following, 
the subject of the ballad: 

They allege that Vortigern was artfully inveigled into an 
attachment for Rowena, the daughter of Hengist, and in order to 
4* 



82 Rowena. 



marry her settled upon the father the fertile province of Kent, 
whence the Saxons could never after be removed. It is added 
also that upon another occasion, the weak monarch accepting of 
a festival from Hengist, three hundred of his nobility were 
treacherously slaughtered and himself detained as a captive. 



'Twas erst in Britain's isle, when Rome withdrew, 
Her conquering legions from its rocky shore, 
That Northern Picts and Scots to battle flew, 
Running with ruthless step the country o'er, 
When horde on horde across the wall they pour, 
And Britons fled for shelter to the caves 
And woods and mountains, with their slender 

store ; 
Driven by their foes they sank beneath the waves, 
Or by the ocean back, they fell or lived as slaves. 

At such a time, when every hope had fled, 

And fell destruction hovered ever nigh, 

A courier from the King full swiftly sped ; 

He was a knight — of name and lineage high— 

At dead of night the council bids him hie. 

Clothed with authority in everything 

The public good to aid, also whereby 

He instant back unto his lord should bring 

A band of armed men from the old Saxon king. 



Roweiia. 



83 



Not many days— on Thanet's lovely isle 
A band of armed men was seen to land ; 
The sight beguiles the Britons of a smile, 
While warm they press the ready ally's hand ; 
Nor long do they on ceremony stand, 
The danger is too pressing— home and friends 
And country the immediate care demand ; 
For e'en to barbarous breasts this wish extends. 
As with the roughest day a ray of sunshine 
blends. 

And hand in hand where fiercest battle grows 
The British and the Saxon soldier bled, 
From field to field still headlong on their foes 
They filled the land with hecatombs of dead ; 
And Picts and Scots ingloriously have fled. 
And peace comes smiling o'er the desolate plain. 
The welcome news to Saxony has sped, 
And princesses and maids, a comely train. 
To celebrate the day, come gaily o'er the main. 

A festival, a festival, the Saxon leader gives, 
And British knights and nobles to his table well 
receives : 



84 Rowena. 

For the allies are triumphant, and northern 
hordes no more 

Shall run the sunny hillside and the smiling val- 
leys o'er ; 

The British king Vortigern, in magnificent ar- 
ray, 

With regal pomp and train appears to solemnize 
the day, 

The noblest of the noble ; but the fairest of the 
fair 

Was the Saxon maid Rowena, with blue eyes and 
golden hair. 

When the herald loud announced him the Sax- 
ons all stood up ; 

In each hand, half raised in homage, was a spark- 
ling brimful cup ; 

Hengist brought his noble daughter, paying every 
homage due, 

And her high and brilliant beauty soon the King's 
attention drew ; 

Modestly the cup presenting, "Waes hael hal- 
ford cyning," 

Said the maid in accents low ; and the King 
dreamed not of sinning 



Roivcna. 85 

As he answered, ** Drinc hael/' bowing ; for the 

fairest of the fair 
Was the Saxon maid Rowena, with blue eyes and 

golden hair. 

Welcomed thus with wine and beauty, what could 
e'en a monarch do ? 

Vain to talk of frigid duty, gazing in those eyes 
so blue ; 

Crown and kingdom won so lately, so much 
blood and treasure lost, 

Now are worthless to Vortigern, on a sea of pas- 
sion tost : 

Deep he quaffed the wine cup, deeper, till his 
senses seemed to reel ; 

Gazing on that face angelic what a frenzy does 
he feel — 

Planning what should win the favor of the fair- 
est of the fair, 

The young Saxon maid Rowena^ with blue eyes 
and golden hair. 

Nought too foolish for a lover ; off to Hengist 

straight he went, 
Offering to him for his daughter the rich vales 

of fertile Kent. 



86 Row en a. 

Quickly were espousals settled, for the chief was 

nothing loth, 
And it wanted but the maiden now to pledge 

her virgin troth ; 
And would she refuse a kingdom, and a king of 

manly mien. 
He a lover kneeling to her ? Such a thing was 

never seen. 
And I trow it never will be. So at once they 

both repair 
To the Saxon maid Rowena, who was fairest of 

the fair. 

It was sunset — glorious sunset ! — just the hour to 
lovers dear, 

And the scene a rock close shaded, and a stream- 
let murmuring near, 

Where the King and blue-eyed maiden wandered 
a delightful hour. 

All abandoned to the rapture of their young 
love's witching power. 

He had wooed the maid and w^on her, had ob- 
tained her virgin vow, 

He had kissed the lips so ruby, he had smoothed 
her snowy brow, 



Roiveiia. 87 

He had sworn to love her ever, and the ring he 

bids her wear 
Proves the Saxon maid Rowena to be fairest of 

the fair. 

Meanwhile boisterous is the frolic at the Saxon 
festival, 

And the jovial song and laughter echo through 
the spacious hall. 

And the shades of evening darken, and the cup 
goes quickly round, 

But the Saxon quaffs not deeply ; for the cun- 
ning Hengist found 

Means to whisper his retainers that the British 
knights should die 

While they yet suspected nothing and the merri- 
ment was high — 

While the King was absent dallying with the 
maid of golden hair, 

With the beautiful Rowena, long the fairest of 
the fair. 

Hark ! the angry steel is clashing. Where is 

Hengist, where the King? 
Where Rowena's blue eye melting, holds him in 

a magic ring ; 



88 Rotvena> 

Hengist meets the happy lover as a father meets 
his son, 

For he feels 'tis useless asking if the maiden has 
been won ; 

For so fondly leant she on him, and so proudly 
trod the King, 

That a stranger might have noted some extraor- 
dinary thing 

Gave to each so pleased an aspect— to the one a 
god-like air, 

To the maid the palm, undoubted, of the fairest 
of the fair. 

Silence reigns where mirth presided but so lately 
in his glee, 

And the hall with lights is gleaming — what a 
shocking sight to see ! 

Blood in streams from corpses flowing — ghastly 
gashes gaping wide. 

Groaning sufferers wildly praying some to stop 
the gushing tide. 

While another, scorning mercy, opes the staunch- 
ing wound anew ; 

Hundred lights are weaving through them, sure 
the work of death to do ; 



Row en a. 89 

Not a Briton had escaped them had not instant 

entered there 
The King, and Hengist, and Rowena, fairest 

maiden of the fair. 

All aghast stood King and chieftain, while Ro- 
wena shrieked in fright, 

But the slaughter was suspended, cared for every 
wounded knight. 

As among his bleeding nobles full of sorrow stood 
the King, 

Wondering how again to friendship he these bit- 
ter foes could bring. 

Straight before him stood bold Hengist. Point- 
ing to the corpses strewn 

O'er the hall in blood still weltering, spoke he 
in a solemn tone : 

'* Sire, our friendship needs cementing — let us 
here alliance swear ; 

Wed thou our beloved daughter, young and 
noble, kind and fair." 

No alternate was there left him. There, sur- 
rounded by the dead, 

Were the king and high-born damsel by the holy 
Druid wed ! 



90 Rowena. 

Ah ! it was a ghastly bridal ! Gaudy trappings 
there were none ; 

Over pale and bleeding followers flickering 
torches faintly shone ; 

Not a sound of gladness greets them, but a sad- 
ness is o'er all, 

As respectfully they gather toward the centre of 
the hall. 

At the sacerdotal " Amen " every knight and 
noble there 

Bows the knee and swears allegiance to the fair- 
est of the fair. 



Sljaning: ^2. Satiic. 

Year after year brings changes in its train, 
But for the good old days we hope in vain ; 
Days ere the beard its ''formal cut " received, 
Days ere its loss incipient manhood grieved, 
When flowing locks were honored as was due, 
Tokens of age and marks of wisdom too ; 
Whose growth luxuriant gave majestic air 
To father Adam, first of human pair. 
And pleased young Eve, who, innocent of guile, 
Received her lover-husband with a smile, 
Leaned on his arm with new and matchless 

grace. 
And laid her soft cheek to his whiskered face. 
The nectar fit for gods presumed to sip, 
And pressed her mouth on his unrazored lip ; 
Whilst he her golden locks admiring twined, 
To all the bliss of tender love resigned. 



92 Shaving : A Satire. 

The downy cheek, o'erspread with bhishes bright, 
Was not a fairer picture in his sight 
Than was to her the bold and manly face 
Whose beard, soft flowing, was its crowning grace ; 
And thus distinct, yet perfect past compare, 
Man's bearded strength and woman's beauty rare. 

How long must we those halcyon days repine. 
Ere razors scraped the *' human face divine ; " 
Ere votive offerings, every morning made, 
On heathen altars with deep groans were laid ! 
Oh blessed days ! I sigh for your return. 
When taste and fashion bade the beard be worn, 
When men as yet were guileless of that sin, 
And no shaved corner e'er revealed the chin ; 
Or, thus disgraced, his face he dare not show, 
But tarried for his beard in Jericho. 

Can blessings rest upon that wretch's head 
Who first invented razors, and thus spread 
Dire devastation over all mankind — 
Unhappy race to such a fate consigned ? 
Of all the ills Pandora's box contained 
Of which beard-growing mortals have com- 
plained ; 



Shaving : A Satire. 93 

Of all the foul inventions which beset 
Our path from youth to age, the foulest yet, 
The worthiest of a mean half-bearded knave. 
Is that seducing all the world to shave ! 

Oh ! that the blade which first his eyesight 

cheered 
Had cut his throat instead of shaved his beard ! 
What mortal man whom fashion bids to shave 
Would not rejoice to be no more a slave ? 
For when the face its graceful garb had shed, 
The razor next attacked the honored head ; 
The flowing locks were strewn along the ground, 
Grace, beauty, strength, no more on earth are 

found. 
Thus false Delilah for great Samson spread 
Snare upon snare, on whose devoted head 
Large price was laid, but while his hair re- 
mained 
Withes, cords, nor web his liberty restrained : 
But once the razor touched his sacred head 
His courage failed him and his vigor fled ; 
His strength was gone, Delilah took the gold. 
To base Philistines was brave Samson sold ! 
Then did this beardless, godless race rejoice, 



94 Shaving : A Satire. 

And to great Dagan raise a thankful voice 
That the dread foe into their hands was given 
Who long for bearded Israelites had striven. 
For years his limbs the fettered brass confined, 
Poor blind old man to a hard fate consigned^ 
And not until his hair was grown again 
Could he be found among the ranks of men ; 
Then fully he avenged the treacherous plot 
That brought him to that foul and hapless lot ; 
And dying 'mid ten thousand dying foes, 
His soul, superior over all, arose. 

The razor came — forthwith, with shameless haste, 
Each seeking to be first to be disgraced, 
With trembling hand essayed the dangerous tool 
And strutted forth a fashionable fool ; 
Cropped from his face its only manly part, 
And looked the woman that he was at heart. 
With rings and ruffles valorously gay, 
Unguents and oils the shining cheeks display, 
With mincing gait and air of studied grace, 
A sneaking, sneering, smirking, smooth-shaved 

face, 
Lost to all dignity of mind and mien, 
And now no longer fitted to be seen 



Shaving : A Satire. 95 

In grave debate where senates legislate 
And stern old veterans steer the ship of state ; 
But where the tea and buttered toast go round, 
With village gossip secret and profound, 
There may our friends with graceful ease preside. 
And each vexed question learnedly decide : 
But once indeed dear woman gets her *' rights," 
Then shall the world see strange and unco' sights ; 
While the dear sex bifurcate garments don. 
What shall their imitating friends put on ? — 
Enough alike they both their sex disgrace, 
One doffs the robe, the other shaves the face. 

Now fierce disputes, in voices high and shrill, 
The sacred dome where statesmen argued fill ; 
The seats by Clay, Calhoun, and Webster graced, 
To other uses now shall be abased ; 
And Sumner's deep, sonorous tones shall run 
In contrast sharp with Anna Dickinson, 
While Cady Stanton, with mellifluous Drake, 
Make hall and lobbies with dread horror quake. 
And private virtue staggers with the blow 
Dealt by the vigorous hand of Mistress Stowe. 
Thus woman, mistress of each heavenly art, 
Disgraced and fallen, acts a borrowed part. 



g6 Shaving : A Satire. 

Tires the dull ear, and reaches not the heart. 
No longer by the fire domestic throned 
The smiles of woman drive our cares away ; 
The names of wife and mother quite disowned, 
No fond endearments to the heart convey. 

Then let me seek some bright sequestered spot 
And live, with all the present time forgot, 
'Midst a few friends of grave but cheerful face, 
With calm philosophy to end my race ; 
Shut from the world, its follies and its pains. 
Heeding no more its honors or its gains. 
Lost to the proud ambition of my youth, 
Retaining still its innocence and truth, 
Growing to age with mind still unimpaired 
And the few friends who had my exile shared, 
So that I pass at last the goal of sight. 
With calm reliance on the Prince of Light. 

The silky curls that grace the beauteous boy 
Are to the doting sire a source of joy ; 
And still more lovely, bright beyond compare, 
The clustering ringlets of a maiden's hair ; 
While ripened manhood hoards with selfish care 
The jetty locks now growing thin and rare. 



Shaving: A Satire. 97 

As rolling years with silver strew the head, 
From which the raven curls of youth are fled, 
The young with reverence view the hoary sage, 
And gaze subdued upon the brow of age. 
Thus do the locks that grace the human head 
A constant beauty o'er the owner shed ; 
So too the beard a manly mark displays 
The sense and taste of men of ancient days — 
Of men obedient to their Maker's laws. 
Men unseduced, by every trivial cause. 
To follow stranger gods' forbidden ways. 

Thus age on age the sacred beard was worn ; 
Men went, as Nature meant, with face unshorn. 
But dressed with care, and trimmed with nicest 

art, 
To please the fair and captivate the heart ; 
Content and happy, nor intent to move 
Upon Eternal Wisdom to improve. 
Oh ! that mankind had kept his first estate, 
Nor sought inventions out to change his fate ! 
Why should a beard spring from the manly 

face, 
And aspect grave and look sedate invoke ; 
And witching w^oman, infinite in grace. 



98 Shaving : A Satire. 

Soft-lipped and tender-cheeked, our love pro- 
voke, — 
Save in obedience to some grand design, 
Some law of Nature, lasting as divine ? 
Who then against superior wisdom wars, 
Or who in beauty shall his taste exalt ? 
Shall man presume to think Omniscience errs. 
And that which He calls ''good" pronounce a 
fault ? 

Then let the razor be the law no more ; 

Let barefaced fashion's tyrant reign be o'er ; 

Let each, by Nature bounteously supplied 

With graceful beard, deem it a source of pride : 

If worn with care it will the face adorn. 

And no true woman will a whisker scorn. 

So will the beard regain its ancient place 

And give new beauty to each manly face. 

Be the forerunner of a taste refined. 

Incite to glorious deeds the waking mind. 

No longer will the morning hour be spent 

In groans, and tears, and face with soap besprent, 

But graver cares discussion will invite. 

And useful books to active life incite ; 

And thus the mind, with daily food supplied. 



Shaving: A Satire. 99 

Up, upward rises with a giant stride ; 
Joys new and pure hence evermore will spring, 
Exults the soul on her triumphant wing, 
While every heart with emulation burns, 
And the lost golden age again returns. 



|3rogvc60 of tlje ^ge» 

A Satire. 

In looking over some of my grandfather's papers, which came 
into my hands lately upon the death of my father, I found the 
following satire, in a very good stale of preservation, in the quaint 
old-fashionod handwriting of his youth. 1 have no doubt he was 
the author of the poem, and believing it has some merit, and that 
the times and the manners require some such corrective, I herein 
give it to the world. 

Once on a time, on Susquehanna's side, 

Of all its denizens the joy and pride, 

A smiling village rose, embowered in trees 

That cooled the noon and wooed the evening 

breeze, 
To which on gala days the youths repair, 
Enjoy the Fourth, the muster, or the fair. 
Bring to the sport strong limbs and healthy mind, 
And manners warm if brusque and unrefined ; 
While all the village belles and beaux went out, 
Joined in the sport, and swelled the joyous shout. 



Progress of the Age. lOi 

The country poured rich treasures at its feet ; 
The merchant sought but gain with justice meet ; 
For sale and barter still on hand had he 
Silks, lawns, and muslins, coffee, pepper, tea ; 
So prospered each, each other's wants supplied, 
And all with care their riches multiplied. 
The doctor tried to heal instead of wound, 
Each case was his for miles the country round ; 
No golden-headed cane turns up his nose. 
But kind and common through his world he goes. 
If the vexed mind was cause of the disease, 
The doctor's kindness gave it instant ease ; 
If poverty with griping hand was there. 
The doctor's larder answered to the prayer. 

The parson too claimed brotherhood with all, 

And warmly welcomed both the great and small. 

The horny palm of laboring man would press. 

And all his flock instinctively caress, 

Visit them oft, their little sorrows share. 

And soothe their passions with the words of 

prayer. 
Know all their wants and many wants supply. 
And when their joy was full, his kindling eye 
And kindly voice directed them on high. 



I02 Progress of the Age. 

The lawyer too — the village boasted one — 
Was fain to settle all disputes begun. 
No pettifogging limb of law was he, 
With pompous air and foreign pedigree, 
To broadcloth, wine, and billiards early wed, 
All on his back and nothing in his head : — 
He was the friend of all who sought his aid, 
And lived and died with conscience unbetrayed. 
Such was the man — familiar but not rude — 
To study given, but not to solitude — 
Learned but no pedant — of a cheerful mind. 
To chess and Greek, as well as law, inclined. 
While oft the parson and the doctor sat 
Till late at night enamored of his chat, 
The tradesmen and mechanics were no less 
The friends and auditors his cheer could bless. 

At dances, parties, picnics, routes, and shows. 
Without distinction mingled belles and beaux ; 
The sun-browned laborer was held no worse 
Than he who had a thousand in his purse ; 
The merchant flirted with the pretty maid 
Who oft brought butter to the store to trade. 
And the sweet daughter of our millionnaire 



Progress of the Age. 103 

Danced with the blacksmith's son — a handsome 

pair : 
'Twas pure amusement all, and glee and song 
Hurried on wings the precious time along ; 
Dissatisfaction fled from every face, 
And pleasure seemed the genius of the place. 

Thus long we wandered, a benighted race, 

Each one regardless of his proper place ; 

We knew no better — be this our excuse 

And shield our heads from well-deserved abuse ; 

For other counsels rule our quiet town — 

To see mechanics now we all look down ; 

And some who oft together walked the street 

No longer know each other when they meet. 

Thus have we learned at last to strut, and stare 

At well-known faces with an absent air. 

And now can tell what quality of clay 

A man is made of by the grand display 

He makes of broadcloth, rings, et cetera. 

Thank God ! each knows his place, and now we 

see 
No rough mechanic at the dear soiree, 
But gentlemen of standing, ladies fair ; 
Bewhiskered city clerks with vacant stare. 



104 Progress of the Age. 

Barbers disguised as counts, with foreign air 
And most superior manners, here repair. 
No noisy, mirthful crowd disturbs repose — 
A few may whisper while the many doze ; 
No songs, no vulgar laughter now is heard, 
But languid smiles and simpers are preferred. 
We shall improve, our teachers tell us, yet, 
And soon become a quiet, genteel set. 
Who of ourselves shall take a proper view, 
Who know our rights, and will maintain them, 
too. 

Heigh-ho ! I wish this progress had not come. 

The " upper ten " you seldom find at home. 

And if you do, each syllable they say 

Is uttered in the most malicious way. 

No kindly laugh disturbs the languid face. 

But a half-sickly smile usurps its place, 

And after chill half-hours among them spent. 

You gladly leave, half sorry that you went ; 

But sadder far to see enjoyment pall, 

And cold convention freeze the mirth of all. 

You dare not go among the " thousand " now — 
'Twould stamp disgrace forever on your brow ; 



Progress of the Age. 105 

A rough mechanic you would dare to treat 
With only half a nod upon the street, 
And to address a woman in a gown 
Of calico would drive you from the town ! 

We do not meet as years ago we met, 

Ripe for enjoyment, a promiscuous set ; 

No ! no ! those days have fled — those halcyon 

days. 
Worthy the gods and meet for poet's praise. 
Mourn ! mourn ! ye youth ! the golden age is 

o'er, 
And dances, routs, and picnics are no more. 
A rough mechanic dares not now intrude 
Upon a lawyer's sacred solitude, 
And silks and satins are divinely prest 
By broadcloth sleeves against a satin vest. 
Old things are done away ; behold, we view 
Progress and change, but not improvement too. 

Woe worth the day when caste and wealth shall 

be 
The charms that pass to "good society ;" 
Let laboring hands and thinking brains unite, 
Each do its proper work with all its might ; 
5* 



io6 Progress of the Age, 

Nor gold nor silk shall pave the way to fame, 

Nor honors gather round an ancient name. 

Here every man shall act a glorious part 

If sound in mind and of a loyal heart, 

Unmindful if his father shaped the tool, 

Or held the plow, or taught the village school. 

Or to the parson's self was near allied : 

Each his own stock shall in himself take pride. 



For the Fourth of July. 

Again has come the glorious day ; 

How blithe is every heart, 
How splendid is the proud array, 

It makes the life-blood start. 
Now the brave veteran's sparkling eye 
Brightens as in days gone by, 
And once again he tells the tale 
Which oft has turned his hearers pale, 
And vivid paints before their eyes 
The swift attack — the night surprise — 
The lonely watch — the meagre fare — 
Their hopes elate— their blank despair. 

Tells of the carnage and the rout, 
The slain where hosts had striven. 

The vict'ry — the triumphant shout, 
Whose paean swelled to heaven ; 



I08 Ode. 

The bivouac — the social mess — 
With glimpses faint of happiness ; 
The cup — the patriotic song 
That wiled the tedious time along ; 
The soldier friend, the true, the brave, 
Who now lies mould'ring in the grave ; 
And as he names the friend once dear, 
Pays him the tributary tear. 

But now no more the trumpet horn 

Calls forth contending foes. 
But yellow waving wheat is shorn 

Where bristling bayonets rose ; 
Where charging squadrons reared and sprung, 
And many a clanking sabre rung. 
Where once the hardy foemen met 
With glittering sword and bayonet. 
Where horse and rider cold in death 
Lay stretched upon the bloody heath. 
Long since the waving grass has grown. 
And flowers have wreathed each bleaching bone. 

Hark to the rolling drum, and see. 

Borne lightly on the air, 
The banner of the proud and free, 

The banner bright and fair. 



Ode. 1 09 

And now the cannon's deaf ning roar 
Again resounds from shore to shore, 
And loud huzzas around arise 
That fill the concave of the skies, 
And many a tribute now is paid 
To those whose heads are lowly laid, 
And many a name is loudly rung, 
And many a gallant deed is sung. 

Yes ! 'tis the great, the glorious Fourth ! 

Rejoice! rejoice! rejoice! 
Let East and West and South and North 

Raise a triumphant voice. 
'Twas on this day our fathers broke 
The British monarch's galling yoke, 
It was this day that pealed on high 
The first loud shout of victory, 
And on this day the world beheld 
A nation free, a cloud dispelled, 
A little band of patriots rise — 
A nation's pride and sacrifice. 

How proud each freeman treads the sod ! 

How fires his flashing eye ! 
And muttered praises to his God 

In patriot cheering die ! 



no Ode. 

He thinks but on the gallant band 
That stood the bulwark of the land, 
And from the plains of Lexington 
Till Washington at Yorktown won, 
Follows again the bloody route, 
Hears the low groan, the thrilling shout, 
By grief and joy alternate swayed, 
Till the last glorious charge is made. 

How many names of high renown 

That page of early hist'ry shows — 
Names which a wreath of honors crown 

Presented by both friends and foes. 
Look for one moment o'er the scene : 
There Warren comes with gallant Greene ; 
With heavy guns and thundering knocks 
The steady, earnest, honest Knox, 
And pressing forward there we see 
Putnam and Morgan, Marion, Lee, 
With many a soldier, many a sage 
Shed glory on that early page. 

Let us enjoy without regret 

Spoils that the gallant dead have won ; 
DeKalb, Pulaski, Lafayette, 

Steuben, and God-like Washington. 



Ode. I i I 

Spread out beneath a smiling sky 
Millions on millions acres lie, 
Won by the high-souled men who bore 
The hardships of the fight of yore, 
Whose names we celebrate to-day, 
Whose deeds shall last till sun's decay. 
While by their mother earth caressed. 
On well-fought fields their ashes rest. 

From the far snow-capped hills of Maine 

To Mexico's bright clime. 
Rises on high a glorious strain — 

We're brothers for all time. 
T^et freedom's blessings spread abroad 
The rights of man, the praise of God, 
And bring within her hallowed fold 
Each heart that's cast in manly mould, 
Spreading her aegis o'er the whole. 
From sea to sea, from pole to pole. 
Till through the world's immensity 
Man shall enjoy sweet liberty. 



O ! RIVER of the winding shore, 
Could I but tell thy beauties o'er, 
How many a stream that now, perchance, 
Has high renown in old romance, 
Or was, when yet the art was young, 
In verse by ardent poet sung, 
Should be eclipsed by thee ! 

The earth has nowhere greener fields 
Than thy refreshing moisture yields ; 
Though loftier mountains crown the Rhine, 
None are more beautiful than thine ; 
Health through thy fertile valleys roams, 
And virtue blesses all their homes 
With pure felicity. 

Thy banks are rich with standing corn. 
Thy golden wheat is still unshorn ; 



The Susquehanna. 113 

In the sweet clover feed the kine, 
Or in the oak's broad shade recline, 
Until the milkmaid, blithely gay, 
All redolent of new-mown hay, 
Comes tripping o'er the stile. 

I love the breeze that sweeps thy hills ; 
Thy music, Susquehanna, fills 
My soul with vast and pure delight ; — 
Whether thou glidest silv'ry bright. 
Or, swollen with springtide rain and snow. 
Thou pourest, with impetuous flow, 
Majestic to the sea. 

Still queen of every native heart, 

! ever beauteous as thou art, 
How far soe'er thy children roam 
Thy valleys ever are their home. 
Thy islets green seem ever near, 
And ever sounding in their ear 

Thy murmuring melody. 

1 seek not Arno's shelvyside, 
And bonny Doon shall ne'er divide 

My steadfast heart and hope from thee ; — 
Among thy wildnesses I see 



114 The Susquehanna. 

Unwritten romance — but, oh ! where 
The wizard hand that now may dare 
To start the forms to life ? 

Oh ! would that T could bring once more 
Van Campen to thy winding shore, 
And o'er the hill at shut of day 
Upon the war-path urge his way, 
And make each creek and hillside rife 
With war-whoop shrill, and sound of strife. 
And deadly revelry ; 

Re-people thy now peaceful shore 
With bands as hostile as of yore. 
Bring the wild chieftain of his race. 
With eagle plume and painted face. 
With tomahawk and bended bow. 
And hundred warriors on his foe, 
All eager for the fray ; 

Paint the wild scenes among thy hills. 
Along thy creeks and sparkling rills ; 
Depict the hunt toward the lake, 
The fight, the gauntlet, and the stake ; — 
What mighty deeds I might rehearse 



The Susquehanna, 1 1 5 

In high and never dying verse, 
If Cooper's pen were mine ! 

The hope is vain. 'Tis not for me, 
Weird Susquehanna, to set free 
And clothe again in human mold 
The shades that nightly stalk each wold, 
And ere they pass beyond my ken 
Wave over them the magic pen 
And bid them live for aye. 

Mine is a less ambitious role ; 
And though I oft at evening stroll 
By old-time path across the hill. 
And see the stalwart shadows steal 
Athwart my way with noiseless tread, 
I only wander, spirit-led, 

To muse, sweet stream, by thee. 

To gaze upon the summits high 
That thy unfailing source supply. 
To wonder with what awful stroke 
Thy waves thy mountain barrier broke. 
To think how many thousand years. 
Back to the ages of the seers. 
Thy history may run ; 



Ii6 The Susquehanna, 

How many thousand yet to come, 
When all who know thee now are dumb, 
Thy limpid stream will still run on, 
Thy valleys glimmer in the sun. 
Thy beauties chain the hearts of men. 
Thy praise be chanted yet again. 
When I am all unknown ! 

Thy sparkling waters met my sight 
When first my eyes beheld the light ; 
And when at last I take my rest. 
Then lightly on my sinking breast 
I pray thy kindly loam may press. 
And fold me in that long caress 

Which the last trump shall break. 



When eve has come, and in my lonely room 
I watch the sparkling fire the walls illume, 
Oft as I gaze my glowing fancy frames 
Familiar forms and faces in the flames j 
Reverting then to memory's ample page, 
I count the days that tell my little age. 
Dwell on each joyous scene of boyish years. 
Which fleeting time but mellows and endears, 
And feel again the exultant spirit bound. 
And hear the merry laugh go gleeful round. 
New faces rise as still the years run on, 
Some older ones are dim, and some are gone. 
Each in his turn^ each in his proper sphere, 
In memory's magic glass they all appear. 

Here glide along in retrospective view 

The stream and mill where my first breath I drew, 



Ii8 Castle- Building. 

On whose green banks full many an hour I 

played, 
Or as an angler plied my barbarous trade ; 
The apple-tree whose scented, golden fruit 
Spangled the sward around its gnarled root, 
Where many an hour, on Indian Summer days, 
The smoky mountain drew my earnest gaze. 

Next comes the image of some school-boy face 
With all its train of incident and fun ; 

Then the gruif-visaged master has a place, 

With frown and ferule, and his tardy grace 
For truant school-boy, or a task undone. 

Fields, forests, rivers — what a numerous throng 

Of images those faces bring along ! 

Pleasant or painful, sorrowful or gay. 

Still memory stores them in her cells away. 

Now let me trace the future of my life, 
With joy, with sorrow, with misfortune rife. 
What fortune shall be mine ? Shall e'er my name 
Be wafted to the realms of glorious fame ? 

Yes, I perceive the shadowings of things 
Through the thick darkness which around them 
clings ; 



Castle-Building. 1 1 9 

I see the expectant crowd about me throng, 
And list with rapture to my silvery tongue ; 
I hear the shouts and the prolonged huzzas 
With which they greet each patriotic phrase ; 
I see the senate with attentive ear 
Respect the counsel of my youthful year ; 
The civic wreath is bound about my brow, — 
Can I fall back into retirement now ? 
Will not the nation claim me for its own, 
Demand the service of her gifted son, 
And cheer him on, a glorious race to run ? 

Ah ! 'tis not there that pleasure is complete ; 

More solid joys around the fireside meet. 

The smile confiding of a partner dear. 

Which brighter grows with each succeeding year ; 

The romping boy who feels himself a man, 

And acts Napoleon on a smaller plan ; 

Who ranges round the room his toys and chairs. 

And gives command with more than Murat's 

airs ; — 
The fair-haired girl with mild yet laughing eye, 
. O'er whom you fondly smile — profoundly sigh — • 
One hour with such were worth a thousand years 
Of fame posthumous, which so fair appears. 



120 Castle-Building, 

And thou, my muse ! wouldst thou attend me still, 
Thou gentlest soother of each earthly ill ? 
Allied to thee, the heavens, the earth, the main, 
Would all be empires subject to my reign ; 
The roaring flood, the gently murmuring rill, 
The fierce simoon, the breeze that sweeps the hill. 
The waving forest, every shrub and flower, 
By turns are given to my minstrel power ! 
Thou at whose shrine the great are proud to bow, 
How blest were I with such a friend as thou. 

Thus oft I muse when at the close of day 

I sit me down to wile an hour away ; 

Thus oft I build my castles in the air, 

And deck them off with all things rich and rare ; 

Then all at once the grand chimeras fade, 

And low in dust are the bright fabrics laid. 



Spirit JlTclobn. 

The spirit said, ''Sing," as I wandered 

Alone by the babbling brook, 
Whose music welled up as I pondered. 

Entranced o'er some magical book ; 
The days glided by me unheeded. 

Their coming no pleasure could bring, 
For the day and the night which succeeded 

Unceasingly whispered me, '' Sing." 

That voice was the first in the morning, — 

[t came with the sun o'er the hill, 
It seemed like a spirit-land warning 

Mysteriously working its will ; 
The wind bore that voice to me often. 

It came with the zephyrs of spring, 
Low breathing, '' The best way to soften 

The harshness of life is to sing." 



122 Spirit Melody. 

It came in the cool breeze of noontide, 

While nature was musing at rest ; 
Though deep silence reigned o'er the hillside, 

My ear with its music was blest ; 
The notes of the birds, as they wended 

Away on the swift-speeding wing, 
With the hum of the bright insect blended, 

And whispered me gently to '' sing." 

As comes a sweet love-tale at evening 

To the heart, it thrillingly came. 
Still into my willing ear breathing 

Its story of greatness and fame : 
I listened with joy, though I trembled, — 

It seemed the behest of a king ; 
I doubted no more, nor dissembled, 

'Twas certain the voice bade me "sing." 

When the stars in their beauty were pouring 

A silvery sheen o'er the night. 
My soul, with that spirit-voice soaring, 

Was off in far regions of light : 
Its music w^as in and around me. 

Pervading each visible thing ; 
Like a low, distant echo it bound me, 

Repeating that mystic word, "Sing." 



spirit Melody. 123 

The song of the syren subdued me, — 

I boast no Ulyssean art, — 
With all of itself it imbued me, 

Enshrining itself in my heart ; 
With Fate I could struggle no longer, 

The air seemed with music to ring, 
Each moment the soft voice grew stronger. 

Till it bade me, in thunder tones, " Sing." 

I sang — but how lame was the metre ! 

I sang — but how common the theme ! 
Oh, teach me some strain that is sweeter, 

And grant me pure poesy's dream. 
Since now to thy mandate I bow me. 

Deign o'er me thy mantle to fling ; 
With all of thy spirit endow me, — 

Enable me truly to *'sing." 



I LISTENED, one night, to a party at play 

At a game they called euchre, both pleasant and 

gay; 

And the calls, when a hand had been dealt to each 

one. 
Were '* I pass," ** take it up," or *' I play it alone," 
Or in a full tone that no man could resist 
The partner called out to his chum, " I'll assist." 

And when on this evening the gay and the young 
Were having this game their amusements among, 
I sat looking on, scarcely knowing a card. 
And giving the players themselves my regard, 
Till the tender emotion I could not resist, 
But straight loved the girl who called out, " I'll 
assist." 



Euchre. 125 

And thus as the game, amid laughter and fun, 
With varied successes continued to run, 
I forgot who had euchred or failed in his play, — 
Forgot to keep game, though the knife by me 

lay, 
But believe me, old fellow, I never once missed 
A smile of the maiden who said, 'Til assist." 



Although I to years of discretion had come, — 
Had reached the full measure of bachelordom. 
When a button the less gave me little distress. 
Nor in linen quite spotless expected to dress, — 
Yet all specks from the neat little collar I missed 
Of the charming young maiden who said, " I'll 
assist," 

This life is a game much like euchre, I find, — 
Can be made very social if so you're inclined ; 
And I saw that the interest flagged w^ith the tone 
Of the fellow who bullied, " I'll play it alone ; " 
While each in the game with new zest would en- 
list 
When the sweet little maiden called out, '' I'll as- 
sist." 



1 26 Euchre. 

And I wished in my heart that this girl would 

agree 
To give, through my life, her assistance to me, 
To strengthen my hand when I faltered or failed. 
To lighten the burdens that sin has entailed 
And just when to play the right card I had 

missed. 
Come on with those words full of cheer, ^' I'll 

assist." 

While thus I sat musing the party had gone. 
The room was deserted, — " I played it alone ; " 
But the silvery laugh of the maiden I heard 
Float away on the air like the voice of a bird : 
To follow and seek her I could not resist, — 
I spoke, and she whispering said, " I'll assist." 



tlnlrer tl)e Snotu. 

The following beautiful poem was cut from a newspaper, where 
it appeared without any indication of its origin or its authorship. 
The reply, printed in brackets, was written by the author of this 
volume of poems. 

Sweet little loving thing, low, low, low 
Down in the cold, cold grave she lies, 

Deep 'neath the daisy knoll, under the snow, 
Silenced forever her carols and cries. 

[Silenced forever her carols ? No, no ! 

Singing sweet anthems beyond the blue skies, 
Waiting for you who remain here below, 

Waiting to greet you in far Paradise.] 

Sweet little dimpled chin, how she would dance ! 

Dear little laughing eyes, how she would smile ! 
Still arc her tiny feet now, and her glance 

Beams not on me for a weary long while. 



128 Under the Sjiow, 

[No, but it beams on a heavenly scene ; 

The laughing eyes watch for your dear face 
once more ; 
And when you have come, O ! then will be seen 

Her tiny feet skip o'er a diamond floor.] 

*' Dead ! " do my neighbors say? Death is a 
dream ! 

In the mid May-time she went out to play ; 
Daily I see her by meadow and stream, 

Couched 'mid the golden cups, sunny as they. 

[See ! from her crown of gold flashes a beam ; 

Hark ! from her harp of gold issues a strain ; 
Would you replace her by meadow and stream, 

Couch her 'mid buttercups sunny again ? ] 

Weep my eyes scalding tears, weep, weep, weep ; 

Bleed my soul, throb my heart, heavy with pain ; 
Longing still for her awake or asleep, — • 

When shall I gaze on my beauty again ? 

[When your eyes open on heavenly things. 
When your heart pulses no longer with pain, 

When with the blessed your thanksgiving rings, 
Then will you gaze on your beauty again.] 



Under the Snow. 129 

Sweet little loving thing, low, low, low 
Down in the cold, cold grave she lies, 

Deep 'neath the daisy knoll, under the snow, 
Silenced forever her carols and cries. 

[Silenced forever her carols ? No, no I 
Singing sweet anthems beyond the blue skies 

Waiting for you who remain here below, 
Waiting to greet you in far Paradise.] 

9* 



While slow-paced Truth is binding 

Her sandals on her feet, 
Fleet Falsehood, always ready, 

Has passed the crowded street, 
Nor in her haste forgotten 

Her version to repeat 
Of last night's cruel scandal, 

Of yesterday's defeat ; 
And thereupon her helpers, 

Rolling this morsel sweet 
Under their tongues, go telling 

The tale to all they meet. 
Each something thereto adding 

To make the charge complete. 

The telegraph is captured, 

The daily paper too, 
To aid in the sensation 



Truth and Falsehood. 131 

And swell the great ado ; 
No privacy is sacred, 

And soon, to interview 
The wretched, writhing victim, 

And probe him through and through, 
The importunate reporters 

Besiege his chamber door. 
And, like the croaking raven, 

Will leave it nevermore 
Until each prurient detail 

Is conned and gloated o'er, 
And every festering sorrow 

Is opened to the core. 

Then in the morning's issue, — 

For so the papers choose, — 
The public taste is feasted 

With garbage from the stews ; 
And there our sons and daughters 

Are well informed, betimes. 
Of bold and esoteric 

Debauchery and crimes ; 
And there exultant Falsehood, 

Glossed with a little truth. 
Descants upon each detail 

To unsuspecting youth. 



132 Truth and Falsehood. 

O sacred Truth ! I pray thee, 

With banner wide unfurled, 
Come, haste thee, bind thy sandals, 

Stride forth into the world. 
Send thou the lightning message, — 

Seize thou the printing press, — 
And meet again with Mercy, 

And Peace, and Righteousness. 
The world is weary waiting, — 

Say, shall it not rejoice 
To hear amongst the discords 

The music of thy voice ? 
We know that thou art mighty, 

And that thou shalt prevail, — 
Raise high thy sun-bright banner 

And let thy power avail : 
Gather the few who love thee, 

Lead thou thyself the van ; 
Be what thou wert intended. 

The shield and hope of man. 



POEMS TO MARGARET. 



I. 
®ire to mi) ilute. 



Oh, how I love at evening tide 

To steal away from haunts of men, 
And by the murmuring streamlet's side, 

That wanders through the lovely glen, 
To sit upon a rustic seat 

When all around is calm and still, 
And list thy music, clear and sweet, 

Re-echoing from every hill. 

The cricket stops his chirp to hear 
The silvery sweetness of thy tone ; 

The breeze and streamlet wandering near 
Mingle their music with thine own. 



134 Ode to my Flute. 

Thy chastened tone brings many a sigh 
For friends my younger boyhood knew, 

Whom, though adversity might try, 

Would prove them more sincerely true. 

Companion of my leisure hours, — 

Link of the present and the past, — 
Warbler in summer's sunny bowers, — 

Sweet solace through the winter's blast, 
Blest soother when grim care has come, — 

Like David's harp art thou to me ; 
Thy tone disperses every gloom, 

Thou soul of music ! joy to thee. 

Yes, yes, my Flute, I love thee well, 

My only consolation now ; 
Thou mind'st me of the springs and dell,- 

Maggie's bright eye, her lovely brow. 
The satyr Pan full oft has made 

The forest echo with thy strain, 
And called into the greenwood shade 

The nymphs' and graces' comely train. 

But I have played to fairer maids 
Than Pan the satyr ever saw, — 
Have sported on far greener glades, 



Ode to my Flute. 135 

Around which yet my heart-strings draw ; 
And as thy low, sweet cadence falls 

At evening time upon my ear, 
Sweet memory to my mind recalls 

Her image whom I hold most dear. 

E'en at thy sight my thoughts recur 

To days long past, to feelings dear, 
To hopes I cherish still for her. 

My star through each succeeding year. 
Thus fond associations cling, 

My gently soothing Flute, to thee ; 
Each scene and image thou canst bring 

Most grateful to my memory. 



II. 

®be to t\)t lUinb, 

Thou viewless Wind ! mysterious thing ! 

From Southern vales I feel thee come, 
And as thine unseen pinions wing 
Their flight still North, the genial Spring 

Comes to our ice-bound home. 
And while I sit and watch the star 

That ushers in the twilight hour, 
And dream the maiden now afar 

Feels its magnetic power, 
Thy gentle sigh, sweet Southern breeze, 

Is like to hers I love so well ; 
Then if I whisper 'neath these trees 

Wilt thou my message tell ? 
Sweet sighing Wind ! bear to my Love 

The vows I breathe, the wish I make : 
At twilight through her garden rove, 

Let her from thee my kisses take. 



Ode to the Wind. 137 

When stern November russets all the plain, 
And sweeping down o'er lake and fell, 
Of Winter nigh thou seem'st to tell, 
And the dark blustry night sets in amain, 
By dying fire 
My rustic lyre, 
The harp ^Eolian, in the window strung, 
I much admire 
Thy fairy choir 
That makes its music gently swell, 
Whilst thou art whistling its charmed chords 

among, 
As if an unseen angel sung. ^ 

Whence hast thou then, mysterious thing! 
The chastened music thou dost bring ? 
Thy chords are true to every sound 
Within the charmed circle found 

That music calls her own ; 
First wailing low, like requiem sad, 
Then high and quick the notes, and glad ; 
Now distant far, then closer by. 
Or sweet and low, or loud and high, 

Thy ever-changing tone. 
While round the house with moaning wild 



138 Ode to the IVijid. 

I hear thee rove, — once more a child, 

I look toward my mother's chair, 

Fearing the witches in the air. 

And for a moment inly dread 

The hour that strikes the time for bed. 

The Northern gates are open wide. 
And Boreas comes, with giant stride, 

With all his horrors at his back, 
Fierce blustering through the air, 

Leaving destruction in his track, 
And strewing riches rare 

Among the caves of ocean wild. 

Whilst continents are rudely piled 
With works e'en time would spare. 
Roaring and raging o'er the earth. 
And laughing hoarsely in his mirth. 

The howling Wind sweeps by : 
No music charms the listening ear. 

No gentle lullaby ; 
He fiercely howls and loudly roars, 

And hoarse and harsh the notes he pours, 
A requiem to the parting year. 

Blow, then, black Boreas ! from thy cave 
Unchain the storms and let them rave ; 



Ode to the Wind. 139 

Tear from their homes the ancient trees ; 
Show to the earth and foaming seas 
The might reposing in thy breath,— 
That to resist thy course is death. 
Oh, how my soul delights to be 
Alone with earth, and night, and thee. 
On darkening storms of Winter tide 
Grim and secure thy henchmen ride ; 
O'er all the earth, with lordly reign, 
O'er man, and beast, and mighty main. 
Rude Boreas rules, dark, drear, and dread, — 
The world is dumb and nature dead. 



III. 
Parting. 

Written on a Sleepless Night. 

Why should we part ? I know I dare not love 
thee, 
And yet thy spirit is akin to mine ; 
Oh, may the sky be ever bright above thee, 
And sweetest flowers round thy pathway twine, 
When we shall part. 

Why should we part ? I fear thou dost not love 
me. 
Yet very often doth thine eye meet mine ; 
No other glance has half the power to move me, — 
In sooth, I ask no answering eye but thine, 
Why should we part ? 



Parting. 141 

Why should we part ? Earth hath no dearer 
pleasure 
Than still to meet as we have often met ; 
Like the old miser gloating o'er his treasure, 
Those moments we will hoard and ne'er for- 
get, — 

Though we shall part. 

Why should we part ? The nights will be so 
lonely 

When I no longer hear thy sweet, sad tone ; 
For in the crowd that round us sat, thou only 

Couldst charm my ear, — I worshipped thee 

alone : 

Why should we part ? 



Why should we part ? We cannot meet another 
So prompt to understand the wayward heart ; 

A sister's love, a kind protecting brother 
May not prevent regret's sad tear to start, — 
Why should we part ? 

But we must part ! And yet we fondly linger. 
We scarce know why, round each familiar spot 

Where we can trace the print of mem'ry's finger 
And read a story ne'er to be forgot, — 

Though we must part. 



142 ^ Parting. 

Yes, we must part ! Regrets are unavailing, 

Yet will the mind oft on these meetings dwell ; 
Our friendship and our love will be unfailing, 
Though we are forced at last to say '' Fare- 
well," — 

For we must part ! 



IV 

JToctea 5lmbvo0i(t. 

He comes to-night ! The moments strangely 
linger, 
The sun yet lags above the distant hill, 
The clock scarce seems to move its laggard finger, 
The shadow on the dial-plate stands still, — 
He comes to-night. 

He comes to-night ! At last the sun is sinking. 
The shadows lengthen o'er the level plain ; 

I grow impatient, gazing thus and thinking, 
And waiting for his coming step in vain, — 
He comes to-night. 

He comes to-night ! The evening star is shining, 

How can he loiter thus along the way ? 
He knows that for his presence I am pining, 



144 Nodes Ambrosice. 

And chide the lazy hours of lagging day, — 
He comes to-night. 

He comes to-night ! And yet he is delaying, — 
My lips are burning for his cooling kiss ; 

If I were he I would not thus be staying, 
And losing time so dear to love as this, — 
He comes to-night. 

He comes to-night ! I'll dream that he is present 
And closely folding me in mute caress ; 

O ! thus to nestle in his arms is pleasant. 
And lip to lip in murmuring transport press, — 
He comes to-night. 

He comes to-night ! I feel his dear hand playing 
Among the flowing tresses of my hair, 

While o'er my brow caressingly 'tis straying, 
Smoothing the locks that cluster thickly there, — 
He comes^to-night. 

He comes to-night ! His gentle whisper, telling 
How dear he holds me in his inmost heart, 

Falls thrillingly upon my ear, compelling 

The joyous tear-drops from'my eyes to start, — 
He comes to-night. 



Nodes AmhrosiCB. 145 

He comes to-night! How sweet to thus be 
dreaming, 
Imagining the bliss that he will bring ; 
Hark ! 'tis his step ! no more my joy is seeming ; 
Now will the hours their course like lightning 
wing,— 

He comes to-night. 
7 



V. 

®l)e Signal Camp. 

However murk the coming night, 
Thy window shows a constant ray, 

And not the sun in beauty bright, 
When first he brings the rising day. 

So thrills me as that taper-light. 

Half hidden by that friendly tree, 
Its steady gleam still speeding far 

Into the gloom that love may see, 

By thoughtless traveller deemed a star, 

Tells me thou waitest then for me. 

With silent step the trysting-place 
Beneath the low-grown pine I seek, 

And scarcely wait a moment's space 
Till turret clock the hour bespeak 

That brings thee to my arms apace. 



The Signal Lamp, 147 

O silent night ! O moonless sky ! 

hour that brings my Love to me ! 
More swiftly let each other fly, — 

1 care not how the moments flee 
That bring the one for which I sigh. 

My sweetest, dearest, kindest, best, 
Thy love exalts my drooping heart ; 

'Tis inspiration to my breast. 
And thy pure spirit doth impart 

To mine a sense of peace and rest. 

Kiss me, my Life : my spirit soars 
With thine in happy thoughts away. 

While love o'er every action pours 
The radiance of the perfect day. 

And youth, and all its hopes, restores. 

Ah, youth ! if only thou couldst know 
And read the silent Fates aright. 

How happy would our ages flow, 

Crowded with bliss of faith and sight, 

Uncankered or by care or woe. 

But 'tis not so ; and thus an hour 

Snatched from the care and toil of life 



148 The Signal Lamp. 

Within thy arms, hath greater power 

To fit me for the manly strife 
Than fame and gold which souls devour. 

Press dewy kisses on my mouth, 
And let me dream the night away ; 

Think how my soul hath felt a drouth, 
Unwatered for this many a day 

By balmy showers from the South. 

Now let them come, borne on the sighs 
Of thy sweet breath, nor let them be 

Cut by thy pearly teeth ; thine eyes 
Glancing meanwhile in mine, to see 

The depths from whence my love doth rise. 

Look in my heart, and thou shalt see 

A passion, pure as any flame 
That burns on vestal altar free, 

Forever and for aye the same, — 
A monument to love and tliee. 

Thy voice is music ; aye, thy feet, 
That press the sward so daintily, 



The Signal Lamp. 149 

To me make music exquisite, 

Tripping toward the fragrant tree 
Beneath whose sheltering boughs we meet. 

I feel thy ringlets on my cheek ; 

I touch thy hand, — O thrilling touch ! — 
I scarce can breathe, I cannot speak ; 

The joy it gives is all too much 
A foretaste of the bliss I seek. 

Go on, gay world, in pomp and pride , 
Who will, let him thy lucre share ; 

I crave no other wealth beside 

Thy love, a wealth beyond compare. 

My own, my own, my spirit bride. 



VI. 

lUaiting. 

The clock strikes ten ! O weary, weary night, 
I watch and watch, no light thy window shows, 

'Tis darkness all, nor moon nor stars give light. 
The whistling wind mocks at my nightly woes , 

I wait in vain, thou wilt not come again, — 

weary, weary night, the clock strikes ten. 

A star might fall from heaven, and who would 
miss 
Its beams among the thousands yet on high ? 

1 look not for it ; my supremest bliss, 
That bliss for which I ever look and sigh. 

Is the bright taper in thy window, when 

In the old village church the clock strikes ten. 

But though it strikes thou comest not, my Heart ; 
I wait and wait, although I know full well 



Waiting. 1 5 1 

Thou wilt not come, yet can I not depart : 

Thoughts of the past hold me as in a spell. 
I tell myself again and still again, 
Yes, she will come ; wait till the clock strikes ten. 

But the moon rises o'er the distant hill, 
I see it gleaming on thy window-pane ; 

Down in the village every noise grows still, 
The lights fade out, darkness and silence reign ; 

The measured stroke glides o'er the sleepy glen 

Of sullen-sounding clock striking the hour of ten. 

I slowly, slowly hie me to my home, 

Remembering thou art distant many a mile ; 

My heart is with thee whither thou dost roam, — 
Aimless I wander all the weary while 

Awaiting thee. O dearest, come again. 

And light thy window when the clock strikes ten. 

Oh, when that sight my longing eye shall see, 
How madly happy will that moment prove ; 

Then will I meet thee at our favorite tree, 

And kisses mixed with murmured words of love 

Fill up the night with joyful moments, when 

Thy longed-for dainty step comes with the stroke 
of ten. 



VII. 

Kealitg anb llomancc. 

Maggie says I do not love her : 
Could the little witch discover 
How, when waking, each emotion 
Rises from the boundless ocean 

Of my adoration deep. 
Surely, thus her spirit longing 
Would not, e'en in thought, be wronging 
Or the passion which enthralls me, 
Or the power which ever calls me 

To her, waking or asleep. 

Maggie says I do not love her : 
Could the little witch discover 
How the midnight lamp is glowing, 
All the classic lore bestowing 
On my mind for her dear sake, 



Reality and Romance. 153 

She would glory that her power, 
Like a constant, gentle shower, 
Blesses still and makes me better. 
And more worthy, when I get her, 
Her true happiness to make. 

Maggie says I do not love her 
Could the little witch discover 
How my heart and soul are growing 
Through the blessing which is flowing 

From her spirit pure to mine ; — 
How a high ambition urges 
Me to battle with the surges 
Which o'erwhelm the man who never 
Was aroused to great endeavor 

By a love so strong as mine ; — 

How each dormant sense is waking, 
And its long-forged fetters breaking ; — 
How each fibre of my being 
Thrills with but the bliss of seeing 
Her lithe figure o'er the way ; — 
How to me is soul-entrancing 
Her bright eye, demurely glancing 



154 Reality and Romance. 

Toward me, even though not meeting 
Mine for e'en a moment's greeting 
In the glare of tell-tale day ; — 

How her smile the future brightens, 
How her love each labor lightens, — 
Could she half of this discover, 
All her fears would then be over 

And her doubting heart at rest : 
She should have the choicest blessing, 
The most passionate caressing ; 
Of the very dearest blisses. 
Of the very sweetest kisses. 

Hers should be the very best. 

Maggie says I do not love her : 
Could the little witch discover 
How the castles I am building, 
With their carving and their gilding 

Quaint and curious as of yore ; 
With their quiet, deep recesses, 
Fitted well for sweet caresses. 
Hung about with damask curtain, 
Making light and shade uncertain 

From the ceiling to the floor ; 



Reality and Romafice. 155 

Filled with books of ancient learning, 
Tales of lovers nightly yearning 
For a smile to ease the sorrow 
Still returning with each morrow 

Till the sw;eet probation's done ; 
And among the pictures many, 
She herself, more fair than any, 
Sweeter far than any story 
Told by harper old and hoary 

Since tale-telling was begun ; 

How the walks and shaded bowers, 
Redolent with sweetest flowers, 
By the limpid streamlet winding 
From the glare of sunlight blinding 

To the cool, dark cypress grove. 
Where the birds are ever twittering. 
And the far cascade is glittering, 
To its noonday-twilight cover 
Woos the maiden and her lov^er, 

With their new old tale of love ; 

And that in that shaded bower 
There is not so fair a flower ; 



156 Reality and Romance. 

That her eyes are far more blinding 
Than the sparkling water winding 

To the river deep and still ; 
That her voice is far more cheering 
Than the song of birds careering, — 
Could she all these things discover, 
She would surely know I love her 

With my very strongest will. 



VIII. 

Why do you love me ? said my blushing maid, 

As on her head caressingly I laid 

The sun-browned hand that wins my daily bread ; 

It cannot be my wealth of golden hair, 

For many maidens may with me compare 

And this great crowning glory with me share. 

Why do you love me ? Are my sweet gray eyes. 
As you so often call them, such a prize 
That, if they shone on you, you could despise 
Golconda's gems and India's fields of gold ? 
Ah ! would not these command bliss all untold. 
And ease from toil and care when years grow old ? 

Why do you love me ? Tve no lily hand 
With jewels decked. One simple band 
Betrays its shape, nor elegant nor grand ; 



I S3 The Reason Why. 

And though it thrills to the full finger ends 
At clasp of yours, I cannot think it sends 
Such rapture through you as your tongue pre- 
tends. 

Why do you love me ? I bring not to you 
Limbs robed in silken gown, no satin shoe 
Cases a foot of more than number two ; 
I'm but myself, and cannot, cannot guess 
Why you should love me, — you who might caress 
The highest in the land. I cannot, cannot guess. 

Why do I love thee ? It is naught to me 
That satin robes are wanting unto thee. 
That jewels flash not o'er thee brilliantly ; 
Mere dross are they. One living, golden hair 
Is worth them all. Thou art thyself, my Fair, 
Made brilliant by thy love, thy hearf a jewel rare. 



IX. 
®m ©'clock 

The village clock is on the stroke of ten ! 
What boots it I should wait the moment when 
Comes the glad hour I was to think of thee ? 
5weet thoughts of thee are ever in my mind : 
Would I could turn them into murmured words 
And whisper them into thy willing ear, 
And see thy cheek flush, and the half-formed tear 
Moisten thine eyelid as it closed in joy. 
It may not be ! Thought is my only bliss : 
The sweet caress, the ripe and luscious kiss 
Are mine no more, save in my happy dreams ; 
From them I wake in ecstasy, to find. 
Oh, sad reverse ! that I am all alone. 
And thus I pass the livelong summer day, 
Thus in uneasy sleep toss through the night, 



i6o Ten 'clock. 

Finding each morning thou art still away, 
Until the yearning wish to see thy face, 
To hear the music of thy cheery voice. 
To twine my fingers in thy silken hair. 
To bask and live within thy sunny eyes, 
And feel about me thy sweet influence, 
Grows agonizing in its vehemence. 
Would I were with thee, for my earthly rest 
Is only perfect pillowed on thy breast. 



X. 

^\)c Wda\)tb Cettcr. 

My books lie dusty on the shelves, 
The poets even charm no more ; 
And as the days succeed themselves, 
I idly sit, and wait, and wait. 
Until I hear the rush and roar 
Of iron steed, at rapid gait. 
From sunset land come thundering : 
Then follow, with impatient step. 
The lazy postman to his goal, 
And watch, in agony of soul. 
As all too slowly, one by one. 
The letters pass his curious gaze, 
As if he stood there wondering 
And all forgetful of his place : 
And when at last the tale is done, 



62 TJie Delayed Letter. 

And all the waiters forward press, 
He turns, with eye emotionless, 
Upon me quickly striding through 
The watching crowd, and answering 
My eager look, for voice there's none, 
In calm and even monotone, 
He only says, *' There's none for you." 



XI. 

®()e JUagic Jfame. 

Oh that my pen, no longer roughly halting 

As heretofore on themes of common fame, 
Now, when thy goodliness I am exalting, 

May write full gracefully thy magic name : 
No longer painfully and slowly going, 

But tipt with words of sweetness and of truth , 
That, from its diamond point full swiftly flowing 

Shall keep thy memory in perpetual youth. 

Oh, fairer than the daughters of the morning ! 

My heart is tangled in thy silken hair, 
For thy sweet sake all other maidens scorning. 

Round thy dear name weaving sweet fancies 
rare. 

See how each face grows brighter at thy coming ; 
Thine eyes with light divine my spirit bless ; 



1 64 The Magic Name. 

Thy lips are full of grace and ever charming , 

Oh, could I meet them in one long caress, 
Or rest my head upon thy bosom, beating 

But one pulse faster for its being there. 
Then might time fly ; I would not stay its fleeting, 

Nor ask of other worldly bliss to share. 
Fragrant as spring I catch thy gentle breathing, 

Less sweet the hawthorn scents the evening air ; 
Thy garments smell of myrrh, aloes, and cassia. 

Thy person has a savor sweet and rare. 

My days and nights are passed in pleasant dream- 
ing 

Of that blest hour when I shall dream with 
thee, 
Thy silk-brown hair around my pillow streaming, 

Thy ripe, crisp kisses unrestrained and free. 
And yet it may be that best earthly blessing. 

With all my longing, never may be mine ; 
But life itself were scarcely worth possessing 

If that dear hope and thee I must resign. 
But I do know the time is surely coming 

When I shall clasp thee to my joyful breast, — 
When, neither heart nor spirit longer roaming, 

I shall sit down with thee to love and rest. 



XII 

O LAZY, lagging Time ! 
When longing lovers wait a coming day 
Thy chariot wheels stand still on Gibeon, 
The moon waits o'er the vale of Ajalon, 
Or on the dial the recording shade, 
With reverse action, multiplies the hours. 

So to my urgent thought this day appears. 

How long the sun bides in the western sky ! 
Surely he hangs entangled in those clouds. 
Enamored of the beauties they display ! 
See how they blush as he sinks into them 
And draws the fleecy curtains round his form. 

Thus the fresh bride, wrapped in her snowy 

robes, 
With face half hidden by her golden hair, 



1 66 Time. 

On the first evening of the nuptial rite, 
With brilliant blush and palpitating breast, 
Meets the warm gaze and passionate caress 
Of him, the day-god of her waking dreams. 

Sink, laggard sun, and bring the blissful hour ! 

I beat the greensward with impatient foot. 
And champing on his bit my neighing steed, 
Ready an hour before 'tis time to start, 
With pawing hoof chides my unused delay. 

That maiden blush is still upon the clouds, 
Less warm, less brilliant than an hour agone, 
And fades, ah ! fades into the cold and gray ! 

But if the sun the God of Love should stay 
The rosy hue would never pass away, 
And life itself would wear e'en such a face 
As the clouds wore but now a little space. 

At last the shadow of the poplar tree 
Reaches the fence, and now we must be gone ; 
The fancies of the hour will soon be facts. 
And fleecy robes, and crimson glowing cheeks. 



Time. 167 

And golden hair, and breathings odorous, 
And warm embraces will at last be mine, 
O lazy, lagging Time ! 

O swiftly gliding Time ! 
Is it the sun that streaks the eastern sky ? 
'Tis scarce an hour since that the sun went down. 
Indeed, methinks it must be but the glow 
Of the departing day along the West 
That streaks the eastern sky with faintest pink. 
Or from the North perchance the ruddy shaft, 
Shooting toward the zenith, brightens thus 
Those clouds that rest upon the mountain tops. 

So let us sleep, the day will come anon ; 
It is enough we meet it when it comes. 
Has it then come ? Aye, Phoebus' morning kiss 
Brings the bright blush to sweet Aurora's cheek. 
But when I glance into those eyes of thine. 
Thy deeper crimson shows Aurora pale. 

Then let us up, and on the ebb sea-shore 
Gather of shells the livelong summer day. 
Surely the yesterday that was so long 
Cannot be followed by a brief to-day, 
So let us sport the creeping hours away. 

But so it was ; night came ere we began 



1 68 Time. 

To know our own capacities for bliss, 

And thus day after day, year after year 

Slipped by, — enjoyment lost for want of thought 

Seeking beyond what lay within our grasp, 

We left the golden moments pass us by 

Till Time dashed down the cup whence we had 

quaffed 
So many drafts of unconsidered bliss, 
That with a sudden cry and start we wake 
As from a dream, and mirrored we behold 
The crow's-feet clustering about the brow. 
The gray hairs mingled with the locks of jet. 
The sunset clouds glowing along the West, 
But with a tint less bright and beautiful 
Than that which brought such hopes and visions 

dear 
But yesterday, — what said I ? Yesterday ? 
And sighing deep, exclaim with sad surprise 
O'er retrospect of many a vanished year, 

O swiftly gliding Time ! 



SONNETS 



Sweet little bird ! so tame and yet so wild, ' 
I love to meet thee in the dewy eve, 
As by thy quiet haunts my way I weave, 
And watch thy head half-turned, thine eye so mild, 
Noting my every motion. When a child 
Oft have I striven to take thee, for I thought 
Thou didst not seem afraid. But age has brought 
Me wisdom, — and I smile as others smiled. 
I hear thee calling to thy wandering mate 
In wooing tones that tell of past delight ; 
Now listening for an answer dost thou wait 
With ear intent, while hope and love incite. 
And hark ! from out yon glen, so still of late. 
Comes the response that cheers thy heart, "Bob 
White I " 



II. 



illij ^pnu at Si IJaiifo. 

A LONELY bachelor, day after day 

I take my seat within thy sacred walls 

To worship and to learn, O dear St. Paul's ! 

And get of truth divine a piercing ray. 

But lonesome is my pew, and when I pray 

No gentle voice responsive is to mine, 

No thrilling tones with my harsh notes combine, 

Alone I come, worship, and go away. 

Do any eyes of all the maidens fair 

Who daily seek thy peaceful courts, St. Paul's, 

E'er wander longingly toward my pew ? 

Does some one wish to take a station there, 

And meekly bear the good or ill that falls . 

To me, — to us, as life we journey through ? 



III. 
illarrieir. 

A BACHELOR HO iiiore, — within thy walls, 
Where erst I sat all lonely in my pew, 
Hoping and wishing that some maiden fair 
Would pity me, and thus divide my care. 
Would love me, and thus double all my bliss. 
Each Sunday grace our sitting with her face, 
And while the week passed joyously around 
Perform her household duties cheerfully, — 
I sit with added dignity, — a man 
Full fledged, with rights conceded and maintained, 
A well-known member of society ; 
For now, within the precints of St. Paul's, 
A wife and child pass to the once lone pew, 
And anxious mammas watch my eyes no more. 



IV. 

®ttr Babe Kate, 

Our baby Kate, lent to us for a while, — 
Herself unconscious of the bliss she brought 
And all unconscious of the ruin wrought, — 
To cheer and gladden with her angel smile, 
The hours unclaimed by labor stern to while, 
To open long-sealed springs of love and thought, 
To teach us wisdom though herself untaught. 
And lead at last to God our hearts so vile. 
Lost to us here within the silent tomb. 
But resting peacefully along with them 
Of whom, 'tis said, they happy are that die : 
A bud transferred from earth in heaven to bloom, 
A shoot just starting from the parent stem, 
A babe below on earth, a cherub in the sky. 



V. 

laci anlt Jancij. 

A MAGIC realm it is where Fancy reigns, 
Where Facts are furnished to the writer's will, 
And the dull prose of common life is thought 
Beneath the bright domain o'er which she rules. 
Why should not Truth, unvarnished, unalloyed, 
More charm the heart, more interest the mind, 
Than all imagination's baseless dreams ? 
Come then, dear Memory, and from thy cells 
Pour on the unsoiled page thy curious Facts ; 
Relate the scenes, recall the nights of dread 
Which thou rememberest in the life we led. 
Impart Truth's dignity to word and theme, 
Then say if Fiction long should reign supreme. 
Offspring of Fancy and of Falsehood dire ? 



VI. 

Creation. 

There was a time wlien Time itself was young. 
The new-made Earth was without form, and void. 
Chaos, Confusion, Darkness were o'erjoyed, 
And round their empire new delighted hung. 
Creation was a blank, — and not a tongue 
Gave praise or blame, — and silence most profound, 
Such as is painful to the ear, reigned round. 
Long ages since, when Time itself was young. 
Creating Spirit moved through the vast deep ; 
The baleful trio started from their sleep ; 
** God said, let there be light : and there was 

light." 

Then Day and Night began their busy round. 
The months rolled by, each with its beauty 

crowned, 
Seasons, — then Years, — Time had begun his flight. 



VII. 

Cife Ultsspcnt. 

It is not life that thousands of us live. 

A daily animal existence fills 

Our round of pleasures and of duties too. 

We rise, and eat, and sleep, — that makes our day, 

And such days make our years, such years our life : 

Spent to no purpose, no improvement made, 

Each charged in heaven's book, night after night, 

With moments wasted, with a day misspent. 

The works of Nature, their varieties 

Of mountain, hill, and vale ; the purling brook, 

The rushing river, the meandering creek ; 

All the forms of animated being. 

The moods and manners of the master, man, 

Are worthy of the study of us all. 



VIII. 

' Aurora ISov^alie. 

All the philosophy the world can boast 
Unable is to solve the mystery, 
Resolve the causes that combine in thee, 
Or tell thy use. Conjecture here is lost I 
Rightly can fancy wander o'er thy realm, 
And forward from her quaint and curious store 
Bring fairy tales inwrought with ancient lore, 
O'er which stern reason never held the helm. 
Rightly could musty tomes that monks have writ 
E'en yet be taken from the dusty shelf 
And once again perused, to see what they, 
Long used to watch thy ghostly phantoms flit 
In empty space, imagined. For myself, 
Such gorgeous scenes as thine would pale in rea- 
son's ray. 



IX. 

Jfortljern £igl)t0. 

Night after night thy beacon-fires are lit, 
O'er the far North they flash with brilliant ray, 
Rousing the sleeper with sad thoughts of day : 
Transversely o'er the sky whole bonfires flit 
Here, there, and everywhere. Oh, who could sit, 
Eagerly gazing on thy phantom play, 
Regardless of the wonders in display, 
Nor sigh to see thy well-kept secret writ ? 
Long have I gazed upon the splendid sight, 
In breathless silence watched each changeful 

glow. 
God only knows this wonder of the night ! 
Here man is lost. And can he ever know 
The mystery that shrouds these Northern Lights ? 
Science is here at fault, conjecture only writes. 

8* 



X. 

®n t\)t Qanu. 

All things grow dim before thy brilliancy ! 
The moon herself, shorn of her queenly pomp, 
Seems like a belle that, long the village pride, 
Finds on the spot where she had triumphed oft 
A maid of fairer presence, on whose face 
With ardor bent, with admiration warmed, 
Now turn the eyes that lately sought a smile. 
Their greatest bliss, from her, eclipsed and 

fallen !— 
E'en while we gaze the phantom disappears. 
The form instinct with life and motion sinks. 
The glow, the flash depart, — we breathe again ! — 
We turn, and lo ! with calm, unclouded mien 
The gorgeous moon smiles in her conscious power, 
And we to her allegiance swear once more. 



XI. 

Summer. 

Day after day the scorching August noon 

Upon the earth had poured its steady ray ; 

The Dog-star raged throughout the burning day, 

Nor did the sultry night afford the boon 

Of cooling breeze ; nor did the changing moon, 

Proverbial of inconstancy, repay 

Our fierce desire for change. Nature gave way. 

And man, and beast, and plant, all importune 

For rain. At length it came : a joyous cry 

Arose to heaven ; the shout, " It rains ! " " It 



rams 



? " 



Echoed from lip to lip, and would not cease. 
If for so common cause such joy obtains, 
How will the heart unto the lip reply 
When once the shout is heard of Peace ! Peace ! 
Peace ! 



XII. 
a |)olitical Stitbg. 

From low beginnings raised too proudly high. 
By trick, deception, and hypocrisy ; 
To noble blood bowing the supple knee, 
By turns the slave, the jester, and the spy, 
The scheming patriot with the specious lie, 
Baiting the people with base flattery ; 
Scoring old wounds, — old for a century, 
Lest haply they might heal as time went by ; 
At length he rose above the vulgar throng, 
Above his betters eminent he stood. 
And nations gazed with wonder on the show ; — 
Gazed, — hoped or feared he might remain there 

long. 
Wielding great power only for greater good, 
How many giant wrongs could he not overthrow I 



XIII. 

Supreme he stood, a nation at his feet 

And power unlimited within his hand,— 

Theirs to obey and toil, his to command. 

O place, and pomp, and pageant, ye are sweet ! 

But mortal man shall not for ye compete, 

Succeed, nor lose himself. He shall not stand 

Alone, unbound, and firm, — so Fate hath planned, 

And drunk with power, follies and wrongs repeat. 

He fell below the lowest, as was just. 

A year unmasked him to the public gaze, — 

Horror and hatred spoke in every eye. 

He fell because he had betrayed the trust 

Confided to his keeping, — trod the ways 

That upstart tyrants tread, who by the dagger die. 



XIV 
finforgotten. 

With what a full and infinite delight 
Some things remain upon the memory ! 
All else may wander on the wild, wild sea, — 
This, hidden in some chamber out of sight, 
Remains forever pure, forever bright. 
So if thou shouldst at last forgetful be, 
Nor bear me longer in thy memory, 
And as the winter days take their dull flight, 
Give me no token, bar me from thy sight, 
Leave me as restless as the wild, wild sea, 
Hoping, but getting not one word from thee, — 
Still unforgotten be that starless night 
When, as we stood beneath the shadowing pine, 
I for one moment pressed my thrice-blest lips to 
thine. 



XV. 

And Helen too ! sweet bud of early June, 
Blessing our household but for three short years 
With her dear face, her joys, her hopes, her fears, 
Then parting from us sudden and so soon, — 
Scarce three short days. O ! we did importune 
High Heaven, that every supplication hears, 
To grant our darling cherub to our tears : 
But it was not to be. Called to commune 
Once more with death and view the silent tomb, 
We laid our sweet babe in the quiet earth. 
We did not seem to shudder at the gloom, — 
'Tis but the passage to a glorious birth, 
And lifting heart and faith, the Christian eye 
Sees one more angel in the radiant sky. 



xvr. 



Once more, grim Death ? Our boy, our only one ! 
Couldst thou not spare us him ? A few short days 
And thou didst bear along thy silent ways 
A daughter, — now our darling Hope, our son ! 
Why should I now ambition's circuit run ? 
What now to me is wealth, or fame, or praise ? 
The loss of him all things like these outweighs. 
My boy ! my boy ! My active life is done. 
How sweet a tie are children to us here ! 
But when the Saviour calls them to His home, 
Snapping the bands that keep our hearts below, 
How longingly our spirits vault and go 
With them, again in joyous group to roam, 
Knowing and known beyond this mortal sphere. 



XVII. 

logtr. 

And after years had fled, to bless our sight 
Another boy was given to fill our hearts, 
Widen our sympathies, and heal our smarts. 
Then labor had an object and delight ; 
Our "forward looking thoughts" discern no 

night ; 
Boyd takes the place left vacant, and imparts 
To our dull household pristine joys and starts 
Anew life's current, circling to the light :— 
Death dashed our hopes to earth,— our dimming 

eyes, 
And steps irregular, and wasting powers 
Count years and days no longer, but count hours ; 
And save one daughter dear, with winning ways 
To brighten yet our fast declining days. 
All our true treasures are laid up in Paradise. 



XVIII. 

Maxxbt. 

O THOU freed spirit, clothed in robes of light, ] 

Our daughter Maude, 

When we shall look into thy loving eyes, 
Then faith and hope shall be eclipsed by sight : 
O Death ! that lovest best what is most bright. 
That still art deaf to all our prayers and sighs. 
Thou with our daughter dost enrich the skies. 
But leavest us poor and clothed upon with night. 
The morning of her days was not yet spent. 
No cloud seemed rising o'er her coming years, 
And loving hearts and hands were by her side ; 
And yet before we knew the shaft was sent, 
Day darkened, and the tempest of our tears 
Has no surcease, — sorrows with us abide. 



XIX. 

®iu Ulore gear. 

Only a year had fled on silent wing ; 
The tears of sorrow had not ceased to flow : — 
The emptiness of heart, the sense of woe, 

The longing which a chord of song will bring, 

Of song which she, now absent, used to sing 
With rising note which set the heart aglow, 
The lightsome footstep coming swift and low, 

The rustling garment, yet seemed lingering, — 
When he, a noble youth who held her pledge, 
Was called to go and seek her loving heart 

In the sweet rest of sinless Paradise : 

With his deep-mourning mother to the edge 
Of the still, painless grave we went, to part, 

But meet again our loved ones when the morn 
doth rise. 



XX. 

a()£ ®ttir. 

O Maude ! could I but come to thee 
Where glows thy brilliant star, 

Full well I know that I should be 
Where the best and purest are. 



MISCELLANEOUS 



Battle of €akt dxk. 

September io, 1813. 

" What ! will they sweep the channels 
And brave us as they go ? 
There's no place in English annals 
For the triumph of a foe." 

— Admiral Blake : Poems o/L. E. L. 

No longer can that boast be sung ; 

Haughty Britain now must know 
There z's " place in English annals 

For the triumph of a foe." 

Other fleets are on the ocean, 

Other keels the waters lave, 
And no longer can the sailor 

Sing " Britannia rules the waves." 



1 90 Battle of Lake Erie. 

In the West a nation rises, — 

Hail, America ! to thee 
All the world with hope is looking : 

God defend thy liberty. 

Long shall Erie be remembered 
By the brave, a hallowed spot ; 

For there Perry fought and conqiiered,- 
He nor it shall be forgot. 

Bright the morning, bracing breezes 
Curled the foaming breakers high, 

When proud Barclay, anchor weighing, 
Let the British streamer fly. 

Quickly Perry calls to quarters ; 

Gallant tars with pleasure hear 
Breezes through the rigging whistling, 

And the orders ringing clear. 

Hark the conflict ! cannon flashing 
Lurid through the thick'ning smoke. 

And the shivering masts are crashing. 
As if by a thunder-stroke. 



Battle of Lake Erie, 191 

Hotter, fiercer grows the battle, 

Closer, closer gun to gun ; 
Not a man in all the squadron 

Seeks a sailor's death to shun. 



Bared each breast, each eyeball glarings 
Face begrimed with smoke and blood, 

Nothing but dishonor fearing, 
To his work each seaman stood. 

Pouring broadside after broadside 
Fiercely home upon the foe, 

Till their decks, so great the slaughter, 
With a crimson current flow. 

See brave Perry, in the battle 

Leave the Lawrence flagship side, 

And upon the foaming water 
'Mid a thousand bullets ride, — 

Bring the fleet to closer action. 
Pour its storm upon the foe. 

Till first one and then another 
British pennon was laid low. 



192 Battle of Lake Erie. 

It is done : Trafalgar cannot 

Boast a brighter wreath of flowers, 

And thus Perry told the story : — 
** We have met, and they are ours." 



atje Kiugljt of St. iJol)n. 

And long and bold we fought the Turk. 
And, Adrian, it was knightly work, 
When, slow and deep, the lines advance 
To charge upon them with the lance, 
To hear the dogs to Allah cry, 
And in the very shout to die. 
But truth was on the Christian's side 
And gave his arm its wondrous power, 
Full often stemmed the battle's tide. 
And turned the fortune of the hour. 
Ah ! yes, it was a splendid sight, 
To see us charge their camps at night ; 
Stealthily first, then with a yell 
Which roused the nodding sentinel. 
Who never rose from where he fell. 
But when the clashing steel is heard, 
Then shrilly rings the rallying-word, 
9 



194 The Knight of St. John. 

The captains start, and everywhere 

Gleams forth the Turkish cimeter ; 

The alarm, — the quick retreat, — the chase, — 

Christian and Turk in heady race, 

And the whole plain in uproar wild, 

Foeman and friend together piled ; 

The loud command, the sweeping charge, 

The shouts of triumph, groans of pain, 

Which o'er the field are heard at large. 

Now fiercely loud, now low again ! 

On every side great deeds were done, 

Each knight his battle lost or won : 

Here breaks a lance with quivering crash, 

And here the gleaming sabres flash ; 

Here, at a sweeping gallop, come 

The Turks, and here the knights charge home j 

While o'er the plain full many a steed 

Bounds wildly, from his rider freed, 

And with fierce neigh of rage or pain 

Joins the embattled host again. 

And now, as every sword is out. 

The Templars, with their battle-shout, 

Bear fiercely down upon the foe, 

Whose turbaned ranks with fury glow. 

Till far along is heard the tramp 



The Knight of St. John. 195 

Of rushing steeds from the farthest camp ; 
They come ! they come ! and swift and strong 
The increasing numbers pour along ; 
Then one last charge to check their pride, 
And slowly back the Christians ride. 
With short repose from midnight fray 
Prepare for strife the coming day, 
Or under flag, with pallid cheek. 
The brother, friend, companion seek, 
And with hot tears, at evening pay 
The last sad honors to his clay. 



Sub llo0a. 

Boy, fit the bath with sweet perfume 

Bouquet des fleurSy eau de cologne^ — 
Let all the flowers shed their bloom 

And every shrub its fragrance own ; 
To-night, when all the drowsy world 

In dreamless slumber seeks repose, 
I go to sup with Maggie dear, — 

Under the rose. 

Oh, hasten night, and bring the hour 

That shows our star o'er yonder tree, 
And tells that 'tis the witching time, 

And my sweet mistress waits for me ; 
Then thus I go, the only guest. 

Leaving the world to deep repose. 
And dream an hour with Maggie dear,- 

Under the rose. 



Stib Rosa. 197 

No blazing gas-jet hurts the eye 

Or pours abroad its heated rays ; 
An antique lamp with mellow light 

The beauties here enshrined displays : — 
Some pictures, old these many years, 

Against the tinted walls repose. 
And gently hint what love may say, — 

Under the rose. 

A few sweet tales of old romance, 

When men were brave, and maids were true, 
And love was one delicious trance, 

Lasting, belike, a lifetime through ; 
A drinking-cup of ancient mould 

Through which the purple vintage glows, 
Revealing scenes in love's young dream, — 

Under the rose. 

And as the evening wears apace, 

And books and pictures charm no more, 
Then cards or noble chess replace 

The gentle talk and sweet caress ; 
A quiet game of chance or skill, 

Or lost or won mars not repose. 
For love shall pay the forfeit pledge, — 

Under the rose. 



198 Stib Rosa. 

Game of the season, luscious fruits, 

Ices, and wines enough, no more 
Than just to warm the youthful blood. 

On the small table then we store ; 
And the desert, when these are done, 

You will not wish me to disclose : 
The supper was with Maggie dear, — 

Under the rose. 



®l)e Kemonatiancc. 

Thy rich and blooming youth 

Given to nursing age, 
And thy next coming years 
To matron cares and fears ; — 
Must still those hopes and fears 

Thy mind and heart engage ? 
Then hast thou in sad truth 

A weary pilgrimage. 

What thanks for all thy pains, 
What joys for all thy woes. 

Whose are thy hard-got gains ? 
They aid not thy repose : 

Coining thy golden heart, 
Wearing thy busy brain. 
Ever for some of those. 



200 The Remonsira7ice. 

Selfish, or weak, or vain. 
Who as their own desert 

Claim what thy grace bestows. 

Thy labor is for One 

Who never wrought an hour ; 
Thy vigils, nightly kept, 

Thy very life devour ; 
Thou hast thy duty done, 

Labored, and prayed, and wept ; 
Thy crown is amply won. 

Thy hearth garnished and swept. 

Come, bless me with the charms 

They hold so carelessly ; ' 

Come, fill my longing arms 

With pure felicity : 
Think how the years depart. 

Kindle and quench desire, — 
Give me thy loving heart, 

Warm with a mutual fire. 

The heart they fill with grief 
I will with joy o'erflow, — 

Give to thy toil relief ; 

Thy watch thou may'st forego. 



The Remonsirance, 201 

Nor care I for thy gains, 
Thy love will ease my pains : 
I offer thee repose 
And joy for all thy woes ; 
Come to my loyal breast 
For love and peace and rest. 
9* 



I WAS not then, as I am now, 
Of iron heart and furrowed brow, 
An outlaw chief with brand and blade, 
The terror of each dame and maid ; 
I was as loyal to my king 
In thought, in word, in deed, as thou, — 
My honor an admitted thing ; 
But the world looked on with sullen brow, 
As if no one had e'er before 
Stolen a bride from pride and power, 
And his nuptial vows to prove 
Asked but one witness,-~Him above. 

The Holy Church against my soul 
Its fierce anathemas did roll ; 
Pope, prelate, priest, their thunders showered. 
Made us the vilest of the vile, 
And would, had they but been empowered. 



Anathemas. 203 

Destroyed, instead of doomed, the while : 
Thus had the Holy Father spoken, 
Whose solemn word can ne'er be broken. 

Power pushed too far full often drives 
The wretched hind to seek its source. 
And having found that common lives 
And common men, when joining force, 
Can set at naught the powers that be 
And question their authority, 
Rises above the despot's plan 
And proudly calls himself a man. 

While ignorance enthralls the mind 
And blind are leaders of the blind. 
And power is all the Church's care, 
Instead of alms and humble prayer ; 
While o'er the body and the soul 
The Pope exerts supreme control,— 
So long can Rome her power expand. 
So long can sway the prostrate world ; 
But when light breaks upon the land, 
Then will she from her throne be hurled, 
And popes, unseated by the shock, 
Be once again, with crook and frock, 
The shepherds of an humble flock. 



Stoicisms. 

Life is short : at every turn 
Grows a flowret or a thorn ; 
Let us gather while we may- 
Sweets the Fates will not delay ; 
This is wisdom, — who would grieve ? 
Sorrow comes to all v^ho live. 
Though we through this being toil, 
Lost in glory or turmoil, 
Let the sorrows of to-day 
By to-morrow pass away. 
Let the heart be bright and free, 
Borrow not of misery. 
True, the loved of Heaven die young, 
As an ancient poet sung ; 
And though memory often rolls 
Bygone sorrows o'er our souls, 
And some trains of thought bring on 



Stoicisms. 205 

Images of loved ones gone, 

Still they quickly pass away, 

Like the night before the day. 

And that momentary scene 

Follows things that long have been. 

Were it not that He above 

Truly is a God of love ; 

Were it not that time can heal 

All the sorrows that we feel, 

As it to the lip doth press 

The golden cup, Forgetfulness,— ° 

So much anguish passes through 

Life, with which we have to do, 

Ere the work was well begun 

We should feel the race was run. 

Who would gird him for the strife 

Looking backward upon life ? 

But the wound of yesterday 

Heals before the next affray. 

And, forgetful of the smart. 

Gird we up, and play our part 

With a callousness of heart 

Which the world could never guess 

Had it known our deep distress. 



21 iiatlair. 

A MAIDEN went up to the north countrie, 

Lingle, lingle, lee ; 
She was as pretty as pretty could be, 

Lingle, lingle, lee ; 
And she had been there but scarcely a day, 

A day but only three. 
Till she stole a poor fellow's heart away, 

O, lingle, lingle, lee. 

And he was as sad as sad could be, 

Lingle, lingle, lee. 
When the maiden left for the south countrie, 

Lingle, lingle, lee ; 
And she had been home but scarcely a day, 

A day but only three, 
Till he came for the heart she had stolen away 

O, lingle, lingle, lee. 



A Ballad. 207 

But she would not give up, as each one could see, 

Lingle, lingle, lee, 
The heart she had stole from the north countrie, 

Lingle, lingle, lee ; 
So they talked it over but scarcely a day, 

A day but only three ; 
She gave him her heart and he took it away, 

O, lingle, lingle, lee. 

But lately he came from the north countrie, 

Lingle, lingle, lee, 
And they were as happy as happy could be, 

Lingle, lingle, lee. 
He came with his friends but scarcely a day, 

A day but only three. 
And he gave her a ring and he took her away, 

O, lingle, lingle, lee. 



Mxtwtli, lUomau. 

It is over, — it is over, — 

I have wakened up at last ; 
'Twas a daily dream of pleasure, 

But the dear delusion's past. 
Moments have I thus devoted. 

Hours, — aye, nights I can't recall, 
And their grinning ghosts reproach me 

As they dance along the wall. 

Oh, what folly ' Oh, what madness ! 

Thus to bow at woman's shrine, — ■ 
Hours of gladness and of sadness 

Time will always intertwine ; 
But a breath your hopes can scatter, 

And although no blood may start. 
Yet the wound will still be fatal, — 

Even words can pierce the heart. 



Farewell y Woman. 209 

But, farewell ! the time I've wasted 

Watching o'er your smiles and tears 
Scarce can be redeemed, I fancy. 

By a score of studious years. 
Fickle as a day in April, — 

As imperious as death, — 
Constant only when most wayward, — 

Changing moods with every breath, — 

I'll no longer seek your favor, 

I'll no longer list your tone. 
For at last the dream is over 

And I wish to be alone : 
I'll no longer play the lover, — 

Neither of us has a heart ; 
We have spent our youth together, 

We will spend our age apart. 



Kecantatton. 

I RECANT, I recant, — T can never hold out, — 

I shall not bid dear woman good-bye ; 
'Tis folly, 'tis madness ; the heart will rebel, 

Sustained by its ally the eye. 
As the drunkard returns to his bottle again, 

— That simile, I fear, will not do, — 
But as we return to whate'er we love best, 

So return I, dear woman, to you. 

But I'll not be the slave of the sex any more, — 

Indiscriminate love I detest ; 
Though each moment I live I acknowledge their 
power, 
For it robs every moment of rest ; 
Still, I shall not make love to the lips that are 
near 



Recantation. 211 

Because lips that I love are away, 
For one gentle maid shall my deity be 
And forever my destiny sway. 

Of a texture like silk are her tresses so brown, 

And sparkling her dark hazel eye ; 
Her eyebrows are arching, like young Cupid's bow, 

From beneath which the love-arrows fly ; 
Her nose is perfection, and luscious her lip, 

And white are her teeth, like the pearl ; 
Her voice is as soft as the lute in its tone. 

And she is a most beautiful girl. 

Come, then, I recant, — ^it was foolish, I feel, 

To suppose things were wrong as they were ; 
'Twas intended that woman should comfort us all, 

And how could I do without her ? 
When age takes to sprinkling gray hair on your 
head. 

And your brow is contracted with care, — 
When you sigh for your slippers, your toast, and 
your room, 

'Twould be dull without dear woman there. 



It) 



Oman. 



In the beginning it was Nature's plan 
Woman should be a helpmeet for the man ; 
And some there are who in the toil of life 
Fill well the modest role of faithful wife. 

But when the woman moral ruin wrought, 
Her love she for our consolation brought ; 
Consoler, helper, then she was to be, 
And bear the yoke with loving sympathy ; 
And some there are who in the toil of life 
Fill well the modest role of faithful wife. 

From human passion free, — to her the word 
Came in due time, — the handmaid of the Lord, 
From her chaste body, faithful, loving, fair, 
The great Deliverer came our state to share ; 



Woman. 213 

Children of earth exalted to the skies, 
With her brought down, with her again to rise ; 
And some there are who in the toil of life 
Fill well the rule of tlie exalting wife. 

Then blessings on her head whose helping hand 
Would scatter roses o'er a barren land ; 
Bless her who with a loving heart could go 
Forth with her spouse where thorns and thistles 

grow ; 
Blessings on her who patiently could w^ait 
The slow revolving years to crown her state ; 
And though a perfect character is rare, 
And few indeed this threefold duty bear, 
Yet some there are who in the toil of life 
Fill well this model of the perfect wife. 

Forgive, then, gentle woman all her faults, — 
Thrice blest is she who helps, consoles, exalts. 



I DO not see among thy sighing train 
Of full enamored youths one weak or vain ; 
Though each admirer, dressed with greatest care, 
With beard well trimmed and curled and barbered 

hair, 
Virtuous, well read, devoted seems to be, 
But yet, dear Eva, scarcely worthy thee. 

Thy neat attire, unmarred by flounce or frill, 
Thy light brown hair afloat at thy wild will. 
Thy sculptured lip, brow neither low nor high, 
That beauteous gem, thy calm and clear blue eye, 
Tell us full well how fair, how pure thou art, 
But do not tell us who shall win thy heart. 

Safe at my hands this offering thou may'st take, 
For though thy presence does my senses wake, 
And oft the matchless beauty of thy charms 
The freezing current in my bosom warms, 



Ad Evam. 215 

Old Time my folly does full well betray 
And sprinkles through my hair the tell-tale gray ; 
And yet I would not that it e'er could be 
Charms such as thine could have no charms for 
me. 

In full-blown beauty 'mid thy bridal band, 
With trembling joy I see thee give thy hand, 
But do not see what happy man shall sip 
The honey from thy chaste and pouting lip : 
No fopling, I am sure, shall taste such bliss, — 
A generous, whole-souled man should have that 
kiss. 

Not e'en to thee has yet appeared, perchance, 
The looked-for hero of thy young romance ; 
But whose soe'er that bliss, I pray thy life 
May thenceforth pass, a well-loved, faithful wife. 



Drinks a Tear. 

Here by the stream, and in the East the sun ! 
'Twas hiding by that mountain when I saw, 
In drunken stupor, its receding rays. 
Alone all night beneath this friendly tree ! 
Where are my friends, — friends who this last 

debauch 
Began with me ? Gone ? Unmindful of me ? 
They might have helped me home. It is no 

home ! 
It is the house I seek when shops are shut ! 

Home ? the word has lost its meaning to me. 

My head throbs wildly and my tongue is parched ; 
Pain shoots through every limb, — I cannot crawl 
Down to yon bubbling spring to quench my thirst. 



TJie Toper's Revei'ie. 217 

(Hears a movement near by^ 
Ha, wife ! what do you here ? Bring me to drink. 
(She goes to the spring^ 

She watched by me through night in grief and 

tears : 
When have I watched by her ? I caused those 

tears 
Which she, with face averted, seeks to hide. 

Her step is not so light as once it was. 

When from the spring where was her childhood's 

home 
She brought me drink. Her gown is faded too ; 
I wonder where she got it ? — Yes, her eyes 
Have the old look, but they are full of tears. 

Aye, let them fall ; 

{As she leans over to hand him the cup a tear drops 
into it.) 

they are a medicine 
Will reach to my disease and quench my thirst. 



2i8 The Topei^'s Reverie. 

(He drinks ; he speaks.) 

Wife, help me up. The bitter tear you shed 
Within the cup gave sweetness to the draught, 
Health to the body, vigor to the mind. 

How many years, Sweet, has the bitter draught 
Of your own tears been yours to taste in silence ? 

Give me your arm. Once more we will go home : 
Henceforth it shall be home, the home of old. 



iJtmncqita. 

The morning hath no charms for me, — 

The sun may rise in glory drest ; 
I wait and watch impatiently 

To see him sinking in the West : 
For then, her lily hand in mine. 

We near the magic circle draw, 
And w^ith the young and beauteous join 

The mazy dance at Minnequa. 

There's music in the leafy grove. 

And music in the murmuring rill, — 
Sweet sounds around us and above, 

In shady vale and sunny hill ; 
The sighing wind breathes harmony 

As round the shades of evening draw, 
But more melodious still to me 

The sweet, sweet songs at Minnequa. 



220 Minnequa. 

Long may thy healing waters flow 

And rosy hues of health impart ; 
They cannot cure, full well I know, 

The constant pains that rend my heart 
What then avail thy goodly springs 

Me often hitherward to draw ? 
I seek those far more sparkling things. 

The bright, bright eyes at Minnequa. 



after tl)e BattU. 

I've trod the slippery path of fame, 

I've burned at honor's story, 
I've sought to win myself a name 

On battle-fields of glory ; 
Where bright the bristling bayonets rose 

And blood flowed free, 
I fiercely have encountered foes, 
For thee, for thee. 

Danger and death full oft I've dared. 

Have seen the cannon flashing. 
Have rushed, with arm for combat bared. 

Where sabres bright were dashing ; 
Then sunk to rest, when day had fled, 

Beneath a tree. 
And when in sleep's oblivion dead 
Have dreamed of thee. 



222 After the Battle. 

How blest the visions ! — Hope was then 

In each bright dream she made me ; 
Ah ! must they never come again ? 
And has dark Fate betrayed me ? 
Hopeless I wish that thou wert mine, — 

Say, wilt thou be ? 
For all my fondest wishes twine 
Round thee, round thee. 



51 0n*enabe. 

'Tis midnight hour : the world in sleep 
Is gently borne through empty space, 
Whilst I a restless vigil keep, 
Still haunted by thy face. 

But, dear one, rest, and dream that we 

Are arm in arm in yonder grove, 
Whilst I am whispering low to thee 
My simple tale of love. 

'Tis midnight hour : an angel guard 

Is watching o'er thy chaste repose ; 
Oh, make that right my dear reward, 
That care on me impose ! 

Rest, dear one, rest, and dream that we 

Are arm in arm in yonder grove. 
Whilst I am whispering low to thee 
My simple tale of love. 



224 A Serenade. 

'Tis midnight hour : but when the beams 

Of morning ope the eye of day, 
Remember in thy early dreams 
The burden of this lay ; 

Sleep, dear one, sleep, and dream that we 

Are arm in arm in yonder grove. 
Whilst I am whispering low to thee 
My simple tale of love. 



Sto a lHoee from mg Sttal). 

A THOUSAND welcomes to thee, bonny Rose ! 
With what resistless power dost thou bring 
The past and half-forgotten days of yore 
Brightly again before me ! Here repose, 

In all the fragrance thou dost round them 
fling, 
The beauties that I loved so much before. 

Then welcome, thou first Rose of earliest Spring ; 
The dews of morn like gems upon thee lie 
And glisten in the sunlight brilliantly ; 
Though silent, thou of Nature seem'st to sing, 
Spreading thy blushing beauties to the sky, 
While round thee modest buds hang lovingly. 

Soon will the sun unfold them with his rays, 
And one by one upon the parent stem 

Display their charms beneath an open sky ; 



226 To a Rose from my Bush. 

With burning ardor will he on them gaze, 
His warming morning kiss will be to them, 
At noon they'll droop, and by the evening 
die. 

Not such thy fate. Thou'lt rest with me, sweet 
Rose ; 
Still thou wilt wither and thy color fade, 

And all my care cannot preserve thy bloom : 
But I will cherish thee as I do those ' 

I loved when young, and when thou art de- 
cayed 
A simple verse shall mark thy modest tomb. 



C?l Hlonotin. 

She sweetly sleeps : 

Within the cold damp earth, 
From whence all living had their birth, 
To where all living shall return, — 
That vast majestic urn, — 
She lies at rest. 

She sweetly sleeps : 

Much shall we miss her smile ; 
The care her kindness could beguile 
Will vanish at her bid no more : 

But why should we deplore ? — 
She lies at rest. 

She sweetly sleeps : 

The voice of song is still, — 
The tones that wont to make us thrill 
With ecstasy live in our heart. 

And thence will never part, 

Though she is gone. 



228 A Monody, 

She sweetly sleeps : 

And we shall hear her pour 
Her voice in earthly chant no more ; 
But in the sacred choir her song 
She ever shall prolong, — 

She wakes above. 



®l)e iDiniimg 0tatr. 

How I do love the silken hair 
That clusters round thy forehead sweet 
And shades the tender eyes that greet 
My coming soft, with slippered feet, 

Along the winding stair. 

How I do love those sunny eyes 
That 'neath their lids so constant shine. 
And when they meet a glance of mine 
Wreathe to a smile those lips of thine, — 

A smile the gods might prize. 

How I do love those full, ripe lips, 
Whose words of love are mine alone. 
Whose pearly teeth oft mark my own, 
When kisses for the pain atone, — 

Whose sweets no other sips. 



230 TJie Winding Stair. 

How I do love the burning kiss 
That greets me by the winding stair,- 
The fragrance of the flowing hair, — 
The hand that leads me gently where 

We share supremest bliss. 



Jtlis Snfeli^. 

Poor Bessie dead ! Now may the frightened mice 
Creep from their holes and run about at ease, 

Nor fear of being picked up in a trice 
By the quick, vigilant, and sleek Maltese. 

E'en when she slept one eye was open still, 
And not a mouse could venture to the light 

But Bessie knew,— such was her native skill. 
And soon its short career was ended quite. 

She was so modest, had such quiet ways, 
Her cry of discontent was never heard ; 

Stretched at her ease throughout the sunny days. 
Her sup of bread and milk she much preferred. 

She was a mouser not from love of blood,— 
'Twas Nature set her 'gainst the rodent tribe ; 

She scarcely tasted of the dainty food, 

But much enjoyed the torture and the gibe. 



232 Felis Infelix. 

But Bessie to the shades herself has passed, — 
Now rests her body 'neath the apple-trees ; 

Such quiet as a cat can have at last 
Be ever hers, — my beautiful Maltese ! 



Excuse my neglect : I had thought I would come 

In person and pay my devoirs at thy shrine, 
But business imperative keeps me at home, 

So accept, my dear girl, this my first Valentine. 
Don't think I've forgotten. I cannot forget 

The moments we spent, in the eve, on the hill ; 
I muse on them oft till my eyelids are wet 

And thy sweet tones in fancy make every nerve 
thrill. 

I think of thee often, — I mention thy name 

But in secret ; I would not that many should 
hear : 
I court not the world its approval or blame. 

But bless thee for moments to both of us dear. 
Then think of me ever, — excuse my neglect, 

But thine eyes were so bright, thy song so divine, 
And thy smile so bewitching I feared their effect ; 

So permit me to send thee my first Valentine. 



lUaaljington. 

He was the free, the great, the nobly good, 
Devoted and unchanging friend to man ; 
Untiring, firm, unconquered, unsubdued, 
And unremitting in the course he ran. 
Conscious of right, the world his acts might 

scan : 
He fought for all, no faction drew his sword. 
For higher far and holier was his plan ; 
No party discord gave the rallying-word, 
And his ambition fell no widow e'er deplored. 

The master-product of the Mighty Mind, 
No fortune could elate, reverse cast down. 
Millions of urns are his ; he lies enshrined 
In every heart, and the world's freemen own 
A reverence for him to none else shown. 
He foiled ambition in the deadly race, — 
Resigned the sword, — would not accept the 

crown, — 
Towered like an eagle in his pride of place, — 
The theme of every tongue, the glory of his race. 



^t Jifti) mt. 

What silly boy, perfumed with liquid unguents, 
Within thy sweet retreat, 'midst many roses, 

Urges his suit, O Pyrrha ? 

For whom dost dress thy yellow hair 

So simply beautiful ? Oft thy faith, alas ! 

And changed gods he shall weep, and unaccus- 
tomed. 

Gaze in wonder on the seas 

Rough with black winds tempestuous. 

That silly boy believes thee to be golden, 
And always gay, with welcome to his wooing 

Hopes thee, — false airs forgetting. 

O ! most unhappy are those youths 

To whom thou unessayed art fair. But for me. 
The sacred wall, with votive tablet, shows my 
robes. 

Still dripping, there suspended 
To the powerful God of Sea. 



ECCLESIASTES, 



No two writers upon the plan and purpose of this book agree 
in their theory, and some go so far as to doubt if there were any 
special object in the mind of the writer. There are those who 
maintain that it is a mere compilation, like the Book of Proverbs, 
of maxims and reflections. Its religious teaching, in so far as it 
has any, is heathen philosophy somewhat modified and refined, 
and it has been noticed that the word therein translated God is 
Elohim in the original, a name applied equally to the true and to 
false gods. Whether Solomon be the author or compiler, or both 
or neither, has been denied and asserted, and is no nearer a solu- 
tion by all that has been written. 

By some the whole book is held to be a monologue, by others 
a didactic poem, and by still others that it was delivered as a 
public discourse. Whatever may be the fact as to these theories, 
some of it was written in Hebrew verse and some of it in prose, 
and it does not seem possible that it could ever have been de- 
livered as a discourse, lecture, or oral address. 

Owing to the reprehensible practice of cutting it up into chapters 
and verses, the book cannot be read with solid comfort in our 
ordinary Bible. Apart from this mere arbitrary division, how- 
ever, scarcely any two scholars or commentators divide it into the 
same sections and subjects. And this diversity of opinion among 
competent scholars is a main and powerful reason for believing 
that it is a compilation, or perhaps the fragments of or materials 
for a larger work. The same idea occurs again and again, and in 



Ecclcsiastcs. 237 

language quite similar. To at least five headings, divisions, or 
subjects, but at irregular intervals, we have the same ending, 
" There is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat and 
drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labor," 
and thus seem to have been intended to mark the conclusion of 
different portions, in the same manner, perhaps, as the last two 
verses give us " the conclusion of the whole matter." But these 
divisions and conclusions are not introduced and constructed 
with that finish and symmetry which we have a right to expect in 
the completed work of so experienced a writer as Solomon. Com- 
pared with the exquisite finish of the " Song of Songs," it does 
not seem to show the mastery of the practised writer or the hap- 
piness of illustration with which tha^ is filled. The " Song of 
Songs " is an exquisite pastoral — it is one of a thousand and five 
by the same prolific writer ; and there is therefore abundant rea- 
son for concluding that the Book of Ecclesiastes is an incomplete 
work by King Solomon or a compilation by one of his secretaries. 
The fragmentary character of the work makes it convenient to 
render it into short odes or lyrics, but very difficult of consecutive 
treatment as a poem. And the difficulty is not lessened by the 
irregular recurrence of similar or like images and illustrations, 
and the frequent but unexpected meeting with paragraphs incon- 
gruous or misplaced. So also one chapter, as well as portions of 
others, partake so much of the proverbial character that they 
should have been incorporated with that book and omitted or 
entirely recast for use in this. All such parts or portions remain 
untouched, making in the whole about thirty verses. 



\)an\t^ of Cabor. 

ECCLESIASTES, i. 1-12, 

How vain the work that man hath done, 
Or may do, underneath the sun ; 

What profit for his toil and care ? 
His fathers came and passed away, 
And he shall have no longer stay. 

The sun upon the eastern shore 
Ariseth as he rose of yore, 

And goeth down, we know not where ; 
Yet hasteth eager to his place, 
Unwearied in the ceaseless race. 

The South wind fans the tasselled grain. 
When, veering to the North amain. 

Blows fiercely from the snow-clad hills. 
And veering still on restless wings. 
Once more a balmy zephyr brings. 



Vanity of Labor. 239 

The eye, although it ever see, 

The ear, though hearing constantly, 

Nor sound nor sight to surfeit fills ; 
Nor can great rivers flowing free 
Mate full the all-receiving sea. 

What hath been, that again shall be, 
What done, that shall again be done, 
And nothing new shall see the sun. 
Forgotten are the former things. 
The names of heroes and of kings. 
And comes the evil day when we 
Shall be unknown, — but why deplore ? 
The earth abideth evermore. 



iJanitg of lUislrom. 

ECCLESIASTES, i. 12-26. 

I SOUGHT for wisdom with a constant heart, 
And to know all that under heaven is done, 
Which travail sore God giveth every son 

Of man, of his afflicted lot, as part. 
And I have seen all works beneath the sun. 

And lo ! I found them to be vanity ; 
That which is crooked, crooked shall remain, 

What is defective, still defective be, — 

So much to know is so much vanity. 

I that was king within Jerusalem, 
And gat me wisdom more than all of them 
Which sat before me in that kingly place, 
And much experience had in ways of men. 
In wisdom, and in knowledge of the world. 
Spoke to my heart, and with it thus communed 



Vanity of Wisdom. 241 

'' O heart ! " I said, '' behold thy great estate ! 
Through thy much wisdom be not thou elate ; 
Thou knowest madness, folly thou dost know, 
And the vain hopes that with this knowledge go : 

Why search out wisdom ? she gives no relief,— 
Who hath much wisdom he too hath much grief ; 
Increase of knowledge much increaseth pain, — 
Thy hopes, thy wishes, O my heart, are vain ! " 
II 



i)anit2 of |3ka6iu*e. 

ECCLESIASTES, ii. 

Come now, my heart, and prove thy worth 
Let every pleasure have its birth, 
Call madding laughter to thy side, 
Let mirth her boisterous courses ride ; 
Give thyself up to cheerful wine. 
Nor wisdom's guidance quite resign ; 
Lay hold on folly till thou see 
What the chief good of man may be. 
Which he should seek in toil and strife 
For all his days of mortal life : — 

What, O my heart ! what dost thou see ? 
Vexation all and vanity ! 

Go, make great works : build houses fine, 
Make gardens, orchards ; plant the vine. 
And lead from the surrounding hills 
To glassy pools the sparkling rills. 



Vanity of Pleasure. 243 

To court the balmy evening breeze 

And irrigate thy fruitful trees ; 

Get servants for thy growing state, 

And herds and cattle, small and great ; 

Gather the silver and the gold. 

Hoard for thy pleasure sums untold, — 

Get for thy house those precious things 

That grace the palaces of kings ; 

Let music's daughters round thee throng 

With mirth and wine, and dance and song. 

Viol and harp, and every sort 

Of instrument of joy and sport ; 

Let there be no unfilled desire 

For all thy heart may yet require, 

Keep not thyself from any joy. 

In pleasure all thy time employ ; 

This is the wages thou hast won 

By all thy labor 'neath the sun : — 

What, O my heart ! what dost thou see ? 
Vexation all and vanity ! 

See in the midst fair wisdom stand, 
Madness and folly on each hand ; 
As light the darkness doth excel, 
So wisdom folly. Mark them well ! 



244 Vanity of Pleasure. 

The wise man's eyes are in his head, 

The fool doth in the darkness tread, 

And yet the same event doth fall 

To fool and wise, to one and all : 

Inquire and find wherein, then, lies 

Advantage to the fool or wise. 

Each seeks, at last, the burial urn 

And is forgotten in his turn ; 

For each there is the self-same rule, — 

As dies the wise so dies the fool : 

Consider life, and what is done 

By fool and wise beneath the sun, — 

Whose works shall stand, whose name shall thrill 

The coming man in good or ill ? 

None shall survive the fleeing day, 

Their names, their works shall pass away : — 

What, O my heart ! what dost thou see ? 
Vexation all and vanity ! 

Mark how thy days are hastening 
Thy labors to an end to bring ; 
Thy houses grand, thy vineyards green, 
No fairer have been ever seen ; 
The glassy pools, the gurgling rills, 
Fed by the everlasting hills ; 



Vanity of Pleasure. 245 

Thy orchards fair with fruitage crowned, 

Thy gardens scenting all the ground, 

Thy servants, men and maidens fair. 

Thy flocks and herds of beauty rare ; 

Go to the man, whoe'er he be. 

Who in due time shall follow thee : 

Thy wisdom great, thy labor sore, 

For him have riches laid in store ; 

He over all thy works shall rule, 

Be he a wise man or a fool : 

Despair of all thy labor done 

With judgment underneath the sun ; 

The toil of many weary years, 

Of daily hopes and nightly fears, 

Goes in the end, thyself forgot, 

The prize of him who labored not : — 

What, O my heart ! what dost thou see ? 
Vexation all and vanity ! 

If pleasure bring us no relief, 
If riches multiply our grief. 
If wisdom gives no certain light 
By which to ward the coming night. 
If wise and foolish, to one end, 
In undistinguished masses tend. 



246 Vanity of Pleasure. 

If all our names forgotten be, 
Our knowledge and our equity, 
Then there is nothing better than 
That both the wise and foolish man 
Should eat and drink, and give his soul 
Enjoyment in the flowing bowl, 
In all the labor of his hands, 
In all the product of his lands, 
And give his senses joy to know 
What good the hands of God bestow 
On him who placeth his delight 
In faithful words and works of right, 
Whereas the sinner may travail 
And heap up goods, — to what avail ? 
They shall be taken and bestowed 
On him whose heart is right with God :— 
Yet, O my heart ! what dost thou see ? 
Vexation all and vanity ! 



JuBtabilitn of Sljingsr. 

ECCLESIASTES, iii. 1-16. 

Each action hath its season, 

Each purpose hath its time, — 
The spring-time for the planting, 

The fall to pluck the vine. 
The young are ever joying, 

Or whirling in the dance, 
They have no thought of mourning 

Or fears of dull mischance ; 
The lover is embracing 

The chosen of his heart, 
And hours of sweet communing 

Increase the pain to part ; 
The soldier seeks the battle. 

And frowns at thoughts of peace. 
And joys not in the prospect 

That bloody wars shall cease ; 



248 Instability of TJmigs. 

The youth to age is growing, 
The new to dull and gray, 

The fashion of the summer 
The autumn casts away. 

And thus all things are changing 
With each returning sun : 

What profit in his labor 

Hath he whose work is done ? 

A moment it remaineth, 
Then is decay begun ! 

Yea, have I seen the travail 

God giveth every man 
To exercise his patience 

In that which he began ; 
He clothed each thing in beauty, 

And set the smiling world 
Within the heart, — thus hiding 

From every prying mind 
His works from the beginning, 

Even unto the end. 
Let each man be rejoicing 

To share the good of life, 
Be eating and be drinking. 



Instability of Things, 249 

And shunning care and strife. 
The 'times are ever changing, 

Man's work is ever new, — 
What he hath done aforetime, 

That he again shall do. 

But whatsoe'er God doeth, 

It shall forever stay ; 
To His work no man addeth, 

Nor taketh aught away. 
II* 



®oir tl)t lubge. 

EccLESiASTES, iii. 16-22. 

I SAW the place where judgment sat enthroned 
And held the scales of justice ; and behold ! 
Clothed in the garb of state sate wickedness ; 
I turned me to the place of righteousness, 
And in those sacred precints ministered, 
In- priestly garments, foul iniquity ! 

Where shall the wicked man stern justice find, 
The righteous seek for comfort to his soul ? 
All have forsaken justice, mercy, truth ! 
And then I said, " Lo ! God shall judge the 

w^orld : 
The righteous and the wicked all shall stand 
Before His place of judgment, — He shall meet 
To every man, of all the sons of men, 
For every purpose and for every work ! " 



God the Judge. 251 

But who can tell if that the sons of men 
Are better than the beasts ? to each of them 
One thing befalleth. Death o'ertakes them all, 
And man hath no advantage of the beast : 
Unto one place they go,— from dust they are. 
And unto dust shall each again return ! 
And if the spirit of the sons of men 
Ascendeth, or the spirit of the beast 
Descendeth, who can tell ? God knoweth all. 

So let each man in his own works rejoice. 
And take his portion with a quiet mind, 
For none shall see what shall come after him. 



ECCLESIASTES, iv. 

Who beareth rule in earthly place 
Hath need of more than earthly grace ; 
For with the rule oppressions grow, 
Whose wrongs bear heavy on the low. 
Unused to stand before the king, 
Who shall their grievance to him bring ? 
For them no champion appears, 
Their plea is poverty and tears ! 
See, lust and rapine rule the hour. 
Protected by the. hand of power. 
Which makes the bold oppressor sure 
He may, unchecked, despoil the poor. 
The while they groan in pain and toil. 
And tend the flocks and till the soil, 
Both sons and daughters multiply 
And but increase the misery ; 



Oppressio ns. . 253 

Mere clods of earth, as erst they were, 
To whom there comes no Comforter ! 

The labor that a man hath done, — 
His righteous work beneath the sun, 
The riches that have blest his hand. 
The honor which he may command, 
The learning he with toil hath got. 
The children crowning all his lot, — 
Do in his neighbor gender hate 
And envy of his fair estate ; 
So that his life of travail sore. 
And all his work bring joy no more. 

Aye, better is the crust of bread 
With quiet, than the ox, stall-fed. 
With travail and vexation dread ! 

And better is a poor wise child 
Than an old foolish king, beguiled 
Of power, whose weakening reign 
No longer can the base restrain. 
While more and more oppressions grow 
That bear to earth the poor and low. 
Whose sighs and groans no one shall hear,— 
To whom time brings no Comforter. 



254 Oppressions. 

" Is life worth living then ? " I said 
" Nay, rather place me with the dead ; 
Or better still it were to be 
With those, unborn, who may not see 
The evil work now daily done 
Beneath the all-observing sun." 



i3amtg of Spml). 

ECCLESIASTES, V. I-18, 

When thy foot goeth to the house of God, 

Then give thine ear, 
Nor like the fool accept the teacher's rod, — 

Both do and hear ; 

Not rash in speech, nor with unseemly mirth, 

Both hear and do ; 
God is in heaven and thou upon the earth, — 

Be thy words few. 

When thou to Him hast bound thyself by vow, 

See that thou pay : 
He hath no love for fools, — thoushouldst not vow 

Except thou pay. 

Mark that thy mouth cause not thy flesh to sin, 
Neither say thou, 



256 Vanity of Speech, 

Before the angel whose ward thou hast been, 
" I did not vow ! " 

Wherefore should God be angry at thy voice 

And raise the rod ? 
Let fools who have no fear in speech rejoice, 

But fear thou God ! 



2[o a iUtsev. 

ECCLESIASTES, V. 9-14. 

Set not your heart on shining gold, 
For though you reach to sums untold 

You'll seek for more ! 
'' Enough ?" — it is an empty sound ! 
Abundance must still more abound, 

Enlarge the store ; 

Then feast your eyes on growing wealth. 
Go to your hoarded heaps by stealth 

At midnight deep ; 
Go count your thousands one by one, — 
By sheer abundance all undone 

You cannot sleep. 

Lest watchful death on earthly round 
Should seize you while in slumber bound. 
Your gold all left ; 



2 58 To a Miser. 

Or some bold robber should invade 
The chamber where your heart is laid, 
Intent on theft. 

But yonder laboring man behold 
Go to his work in heat and cold 

At rising sun ; 
And watch him as he nightly goes 
To sound and undisturbed repose, 

His labor done. 

No fear his steady footstep shows, 
Nor death nor robbers are his foes. 

Though ever nigh ; 
Scatter your gold by noble stealth, 
And place your heart, your hopes, your wealth. 

Secure on high. 



lUealtl) Ittcnjoaeir. 

ECCLESIASTES, vi. 

Though God give honor, riches, wealth, 
And all that heart of man desires, 
Yet if He doth at last withhold 
The power to make enjoyment full, 
And turneth to a stranger what 
Successful toil and care had got, 
Then that man's life is vanity. 

Though he should live for many years, 
An hundred children should beget. 
Yet lack fruition of his life ; 
Be in his growing age unblest, 
Unhonored by his children's love. 
Then to the dogs for burial cast, — 
Untimely birth would better be. 



26o Wealth Unenjoyed. 

Who cometh thus in vanity 

And goeth in the darkness forth, 

Unknown forever by a name, 

Unseeing the all-seeing sun, 

Of all unknown and knowing naught. 

Shall rest in greater quietude 

Than he with age and wealth endued. 

For years do not show good to man. 

All to the self-same place depart ; 

Each one shall please his mouth while here, 

And leave his soul unsatisfied : 

The wisdom of the wise shall be 

Just like the folly of the fool. 

And both shall end in vanity ! 

Better the sight of choosing eyes 
Than wandering after blind desire, — 
But all these things are vanities. 
And man is not improved thereby : 
Like to a shadow in the prime 
He passeth, and shall never know 
What things shall be in after-time. 



ECCLESIASTES, vii. I-7. 

Let us go where the mourners assemble 
And not to the house of the feast ; 

For as man cometh there to his ending, 
The living will lay it to heart. 

So our sorrow is better than laughter, 
And sadness improveth the heart. 

To the house where the mourners assemble, 
The heart of the wise goeth forth, 

But the fool, with his laughter and singing, 
Regardeth the mansion of mirth. 

Let us hear the rebuke of the wise man, 
Nor list to the voice of the fool. 

For his laugh is like thorns in the burning, 
And vanity filleth his song. 



€oiTuption0. 

ECCLESIASTES, Vii. 7-IO. 

See how oppression beareth down 
The needy poor beneath his frown ; 
Where'er he treads no pleasures spr.iig^ 
No flowers bloom, no children sing. 
Though industry with daily toil 
May tend the flock and till the soil, 
And gather, ere the latter rain, 
The fatted kine, the golden grain, 
The lord alone shall taste the feast,— 
The hind may huddle with the beast. 

Surely the wise man in his wrath 
Will sweep oppression from his path, — 
Raise up the weak, beat down the strong, 
Establish justice, banish wrong, 
Be leader in the righteous cause 
Of brotherhood and equal laws ! 



Corruptions. 263 

But when the work is just begun, 
When, as toward the rising sun, 
The people look with steady gaze, 
Already gladdened by his rays, — 
Are blinded by the glowing light 
Which pours from his increasing height, — 
They cheer their champion as he goes 
In humble guise against their foes ; 
Now stand aghast, a sad surprise 
Looking from out their stolid eyes, 
To see him rising to their aid, 
In gold and purple silks arrayed, 
On steed with trappings richly dight 
And sword and shield of dazzling light, 
With softened voice and weakened zeal 
Protesting for the commonweal ! 

Where is that clear resounding voice 
Which made the populace rejoice ? 
Where is the sympathetic eye 
Whose glances like the lightning fly ? 
Why is the wise young leader calm ?— 
A gift hath touched his itching palm ! 

Blind are his eyes, corrupt his heart. 
Unequal to the glorious part ; 



264 Corruptions. 

By sugared promises controlled, 
And the soft blandishment of gold ! 
The work but late so well begun 
Hath reached its end, although undone. 

Ah ! more than wisdom is required 
By him with hate of wrong inspired ; 
An honest heart, a love of right 
For its own self, will give him might ; 
But more than all, in him must reign 
A holy scorn of sordid gain ! 

Then ask the cause why former days 
Were worthy of the poet's praise ; 
Ask why the poor man's life should be 
Vexation, toil, and vanity ; 
Why lute and song should now no more 
Call laughing childhood to the fore ; 
Ask why the maid should go unwed, 
And age in rags and sorrow tread ? 

And when the spirit rises high. 
Well may the anger-speaking eye 
Strike terror to the proud and fool, 
For law and right again shall rule ! 

Then shall we say, beneath the sun, 
Well ended what was well begun. 



|]ral0£ of lUisbcim. 

ECCLESIASTES, vii. 11-22. 

Wisdom is better than gold inherited : 

It is a profit to them that see the sun, 

For though wisdom is nothing but a shadow, 

And also gold is nothing but a shadow, 

Yet knowledge is more excellent than gold, 

And wisdom giveth life to them that have it ; 

Yet, indeed, thou canst not make the crooked 

straight, 
For the works of God remain as at the first. 

In the day of thy prosperity, be joyful ; 
In the day of thy adversity, consider ; 
For God hath made the one ever to remain 
A set-off over and against the other. 

In the days of my vain life have I seen much : 
A just man perisheth in his righteousness, 
A wicked prolongeth his life in wickedness. 



266 Praise of Wisdom, 

Be not righteous overmuch, neither too wise ; 
Be not overmuch wicked, neither foolish, 
Lest thou be desolate or die before thy time. 
He that feareth God shall come forth of them all. 
In wisdom is more strength than in ten mighty 
men. 

Because no man on earth doeth good and no sin, 
Take no heed of all the words that are spoken ; 
Perchance thou mayest hear thy servant curse 

thee ; 
Reflect, then, that thou thyself hast cursed others. 



:2lgamst illoman. 

ECCLESIASTES, vii. 23-29. 

I SAID, I will be wise, and know 
The secret springs of joy and woe, 
But when I strove the cause to find 
Unfathomed was the Eternal Mind,— 
Far in the past that which I sought, 
Deep, deep,— and who shall find it out ? 
Yet I applied my heart to know 
The wickedness of foolishness ; 
Why man, created upright, fell. 
Or seized occasion to rebel, 
Disdaining laws that sought to bind 
The action of the aspiring mind ; 
Why growth of evil was allowed, 
Why goodness shrinks within the crowd. 
Why light and life and love are dear, 
Why friendship gives a joy sincere. 



268 Against Woman. 

Why death is such a bitter foe ? 

All this I sought but could not know. 

And still, beyond this search of things, 
Which but half knowledge with it brings. 
It came within my settled plan 
To search and find a loyal man, — 
One in the hour of wisdom true, 
And in the hour of folly too ; 
True in the high, exulting hour 
When youth gives permanence to power,- 
True when the days of failing age 
Require support and counsel sage : 
And in that search this world around. 
One in a thousand have I found 
From whom my soul would not depart, — 
A faithful, honest, loyal heart. 

But in my search I did not find 
One woman with a candid mind, — 
One with a heart from selfhood free. 
One not enslaved by vanity. 
Gewgaws and gold engross their cares. 
Their subtle hearts are nets and snares. 
Caresses by their soft white hands 
Bind you as if with iron bands ; 
Beware of all their wanton wiles. 



Against Woman. 269 

And be not drunken with their smiles ; 
Than death more bitter was the thought 
Of so much harm by woman wrought, 
And that in all the world around 
Not one trustworthy could be found ! 



lUspert to Kinga. 

ECCLESIASTES, viii. I-5. 

Who, as the wise man, stands before the king 

And knows to shape his words in grave debate ? 

The wise man who, with shining face sedate, 
Gives in due speech the meaning of the thing ? 
He grave obedience to the king doth bring. 

And in God's fear allegiance to the state ; 

Unquestioning his word obeyeth straight, 
Knowing the power it beareth from the king. 
He who doth thus obey shall never feel 

The shadow of the shade of cold neglect ; 
And the wise man doth know within his heart 
That whatsoever wrong time may reveal, 

God in His course, whatever men reflect, 
Shall well correct and even every part. 



|Jrot)iirence CDoer ^U. 

ECCLESIASTES, viii. 6-II. 

God's rule is over all to work His will, 

And even kings are subject to His sway ; 

He giveth time and judgment in His course, 

And all their chosen plans are brought to naught, 

And their proud labors hasten to decay. 

Who then dare plan against His sure decree, — 

Whose purpose shall succeed and whose shall 

fail? 
None among all the sons of men can know 
What shall be, or what moment may bring forth 
Event untoward to his whole design. 

Even his own spirit lies beyond his power, 

And mortal man shall not prolong his life 

Nor have control over his day of death ; 

That day shall come as comes the morning sun, — 

That final struggle must be met and made ; 

It Cometh to the wicketh and the good. 

And from that war there shall be no discharge ! 



2/2 Providence Over All. 

All this I saw whenas I gave my heart 
To know the secrets of this busy life 
And contemplate the acts of busy men. 

And it may happen that the king shall rule 

In wickedness, and to his subject's hurt ; 

This have I seen, and seen this same king buried, 

Unwept, unhonored, from his holy seat^ 

Forgotten in the city where he ruled 

Unjustly in his plenitude of power, — 

So pass even kings out of the minds of men I 

Vain is the wish for any earthly fame, 
Oblivion hides the glory and the shame : 
Feel not secure to live in coming time, 
Feel not secure that sentence is withheld ; 
However long may seem the law's delay, 
At last will come the fatal judgment day. 

Because the sentence against evil work 
And execution of the judgment sealed 
Comes not with speed upon the sinner's head, 
Therefore he saith, " God doth it not remark," 
Till vengeful justice strikes the doubter dead ! 



(£at anb JBrink. 

ECCLESIASTES, viii. I2-15. 

Though a sinner do evil an hundred times. 

And his days be prolonged, 
Yet surely I know that the end shall be well 

With them that fear God ; 
But it shall not be well with the wicked, 

Nor his days be prolonged, — ■ 
His days which are only a shadow, — because 

He feared not before God. 

And yet, when I see that the just man fares 

As the wicked doth fare, 
And the wicked are blest in their doings 

As the righteous should be. 
And the world still goes in its constant course 

All unmindful of this, — 



274 ^^^ ^^^ Drink. 

Then of life and of time and of judgment dread 

I am forced to despair ; 
And I find not on earth that full justice done 

Which the wicked require, 
And I mourn as I see them exult them 

O'er our travail and toil, 
And I feel that the wicked are jeering 

At our labors so vain. 

Then said I, *' Come ye forth, you minstrel throng, 

And lead your sister Mirth ; 
The happy days, the pleasant nights prolong : 

Why should the smiling earth. 
Which carols to the kissing sun a song, 

Witness of joy a dearth ? 
Tell me, where is there any better thing 

Under the glowing sun 
Than just to eat and drink, to dance and sing, — 

Our daily labor done, — 
And seize enjoyment in the passing day 

Which God in kindness gave, 
That of man's labor shall abide alway 

Until he seek the grave ?" 



®oir ®t)n- 2111. 

ECCLESIASTES, viii. 16-17 ; ix. 1-6, 

When I applied my heart to know 
And see the business done on earth, 
I saw it was the work of God ; 
Nor can man find the labor done, 
Although he seek, beneath the sun. 

For I considered in my heart. 
That whether of the righteous man 
Or of the wise, all of their work ' 
Is in the hand of God, and He 
Keeps all things in obscurity. 

And all things come alike to all, — 
The righteous and the wicked man. 
The good, the unclean and the clean, 
And ever-conquering death comes both 
To him who makes or fears an oath. 



2/6 God Over All. 

Yet to the living there is hope : 
A living dog is better far 
Than is the noblest lion dead ; 
The living know that they shall die, 
The dead, unknowing all things, lie. 

Their love no longer stirs the heart, 
Their hatred now is perished quite, 
No active zeal their envy wakes ; 
Nothing they know of what is done 
By living men beneath the sun. 



®o a IJoung ftlan. 

EccLESiASTES, ix. 7-10 ; xi. 9-10. 

Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, 
And walk in the ways of thy heart, 

In the sight of thine eyes ; 
Give sorrow no place in thy breast. 
Put penance away from thy flesh, 

And the wise men despise. 

Sit down to the banquet with joy, 
And drink thy heart merry with wine ; 

Let thy garments be white, — 
Thy head with sweet unguents anoint. 
And live whilst thou livest this life :— 

Do thy work with thy might ! 

But know thou the work which thou doest, 
Tiiy joy in the sun and his light, 
In the feast and the wine, 



278 To a Young Man, 

Shall show as the folly of fools 
When wise men shall meet to consult 
Of this labor of thine. 

How, then, when the sun shall grow dark 
And cometh the Ancient of Days 

To the work of thy hands ? 
The wood and the stubble and straw 
Shall consume, -and nothing be left 

Of thy house on the sands. 



€ontrabictiott0. 



EGCLESIASTES, ix. II-I3. 



Behold upon the earth 

The turmoil for the prize,— 
Strivings in wrath or mirth 

Between the fool and wise. 
All contradiction seems, 

If judged by human rule^ 
The perverse course of dreams 

Between the wise and fooL 
Contention and defeat 

On the one hand we see, 
And on the other meet 

Half strife and victory. 
Skill, prudence, naught avail 

To win the much-sought prize ; 
The weak over the strong prevail, 

The simple over the wise. 



28o Contradictions, 

As Cometh time and chancCj 
His portion comes to each, 

And that for which he strove 
Be still beyond his reach. 

As fishes to the net, 
As birds into the snare, 

So are the sons of men 
Caught ever unaware. 



ECCLESIASTES, ix. 14-18. 

A LITTLE city stood, 

The pride of all the plain, 
Few men within its walls 

Its honor to maintain ; 
And came a mighty king 

And compassed it around, 
And heavy bulwarks built 

To raze it to the ground. 

The city, in its strait. 

Called to the poor and wise, 
And quickly from its gate 

The baffled army flies ; 
And when he rose to fame 
Forgotten was the name 

Of this poor man and wise. 
And none knew whence he came. 



282 Wisdom Unappreciated. 

Wisdom is more than strength 
Or weapons in the fight, 

Yet are its words despised 
When folly stands in sight ; 

But when the work is done 

Wisdom exalts her son, — 
Her son without a name, 
Her son unknown to fame. 



€a«tion0. 

ECCLESIASTES, X. 20 ; xi. 1-6, 

Curse not the king, not even in thy thought, 
Nor in thy inmost chamber curse the rich ; 
A bird shall bear the echo of thy voice. 
And conscience tell the evil thou hast wrought. 
Upon the waters cast thou forth thy bread, 
And thou shalt find it after many days : 
Divide to seven, and even unto eight, — 
Thou knowest not what evil days may come. 
As the full clouds drop rain upon the earth, 
Whence thou shalt gather at the harvest-time ; 
As the tree falleth to the south or north, 
In that place where it fall there it shall be. 
So where thy bounty has been well dispensed, 
There at thy need it now shall succor thee. 
Wait not to sow until the wind be fair. 



284 Cautions. 

Lest when the harvest comes thou mayest not 

reap ; 
Few things thou knowest, but this shouldst thou 

know, 
Whate'er betide, God's hand is over all : 
Then when the morning cometh sow thy seed, 
At evening time withhold not thou thy hand ; 
Thou canst not know which may be fully blest, 
Or whether both shall not be good alike. 



©Ill age. 

EccLESlASTEs, xi. 7-10 ; xii. 1-8. 

Sweet is the light to youthful eyes, 
A pleasant thing to see the sun, 

But if a man live many years, 

And joys through all their changes run, 

Let him remember there must be 
Days full of darkness and of fears. 

And all be days of vanity. 

Then in thy youth rejoice, young man, 
And give thy heart to cheerful days ; 
Walk in the sight of thy young eyes, 
And follow out the pleasant ways : 
But know thou that for every thing 
God will thee unto judgment bring ; 
Therefore remove from out thy heart 
All that which sorrow may impart ; 



286 Old Age, 

Let in thy flesh no evil be, — 
Childhood and youth are vanity. 
And in these days of giddy youth 

Keep thy Creator in thy mind, — 
Before the evil days have come, — 
Before the carking years draw nigh. 
When thou shalt say in wearied tone, 

They bring no pleasure in their train, — 
Before the pleasant light grows dark, 

Or clouds return upon the rain : — 

Before the keepers of the house 
Shall tremble with the weight of years, 
And strong men bow themselves to earth. 
And teeth shall fail, and eyes grow dim. 
And doors be shut upon the streets. 
And wakeful eyes shall rouse from sleep 
At chirping voice of early bird ; 
And even Music, maid of Mirth, 
Shall wail and bow herself to earth ; — 
Before the failing years shall come. 
When he shall fear the proud and high, 
And dread the lion in the way. 
Before the hair shall whitened grow 
And like the almond-blossom show, 



Old Age. 287 

And lightest food shall pall the taste, 
Which nothing now can stimulate ; — 

Before the silver cord be loosed, 
Or broken be the golden bowl ; 
Before the pitcher at the fount, 
Or at the cistern deep the wheel 
Be broken — 

For the travail is then ended. 
And the vain work of life is done ; 
Man goeth forth to his long home, 
And mourners go about the streets : — 
Then shall the dust return to earth, 
To God the spirit shall return ' 



ECCLESIASTES, xii. 8-14. 

Thus the wise king-preacher taught, 
Pouring forth digested thought, 
And the people sought to know 
What his wisdom could bestow. 
Gathering up, he set in store 
Proverbs from the common lore, 
And with his delightsome words > 
Bound his hearers as with cords ; 
Words of wisdom, words of truth, 
As a goad to urge the youth, 
As a nail to fasten well 
What the preacher had to tell ; 
By these words, my son, be led, 
By them be admonished. 

He had seen beneath the sun 
What the hands of men had done ; 



L Envoy. 289 

He had mingled with the great, 
He had seen their proud estate, 
All their troubles, all their cheer, 
Day by day and year by year ; 
And he knew their life to be 
Vexation all and vanity. 

He had knowledge, in his rule, 
Of the wise and of the fool ; 
Oft had wearied of discourse 
Urged with ever-weakening force ; 
Yawned through many a grave debate 
On profound affairs of state ; 
Many a learned treatise read, 
Tortured with an aching head ; 
Given oft, by midnight oil, 
Many hours of studious toil. 
Till much wisdom seemed to be 
Vexation all and vanity. 

In his life's protracted round 
Here and there a man he found 
Who, with true and loyal heart. 
Bore his ever-faithful part ; 
But no woman did he find 
13 



290 L'Envoy. 

With a constant heart and mind : — 
Ever changing, insincere, 
Ready with a smile or tear ; 
Seeking ever for control. 
Giving for it self and soul ; 
Bartering love for place and pelf. 
True to no one but herself ; 
Kisses given over night 
All forgot by morning light ; 
Vows of truth all broken through 
Unless power kept them true : 
Vows w^ere only empty breath, — 
Thought more bitter far than death !- 
He had found their vows to be 
Vexation, snares, and vanity. 

Wisdom wishes to be heard. 
Sages hope themselves preferred. 
Statesmen full of ancient lore 
Con wise maxims o'er and o'er ; 
Poets seek the public ear. 
Singing words of love and cheer ; — 
See what many books abound, 
Mostly false, and useless found ; 
Not with wine of wit distilled, 



L" Envoy. 291 

But with repetitions filled ; 
Stale and stupid, saying o'er 
Things much better said before ; 
And if even new and fresh, 
Wearisome unto the flesh. 

What is the conclusion, then, — 
The duty of the sons of men ? 
What is the supreme command. 
Given from, the preacher's hand. 
That each man may bear away ? — 

^' Fear thou God and Him obey! " 

For He will in open day 
Every work to judgment bring, — 
Open every secret thing, 
Good or evil though it be, 
. Wise or filled with vanity ! 



TABLE OF FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

A bachelor no more, — within thy walls 171 

Again has come the glorious day 107 

A lonely bachelor, day after day 170 

All the philosophy the world can boast 176 

All things grow dim before thy brilliancy ! 178 

And after years had fled, to bless our sight 185 

And Helen too ! sweet bud of early June 183 

And long and bold we fought the Turk I93 

A magic realm it is where Fancy reigns I73 

A maiden went up to the north countrie 206 

A thousand welcomes to thee, bonny Rose ! 225 

A little city stood 281 

Behold upon the earth 279 

Boy, fit the bath with sweet perfume 196 

Come, beardless Leader of the Sacred Nine i 

Come sit by the fireside, dearest 3° 

Come now, my heart, and prove thy worth ... 242 

Curse not the king, not even in thy thought 283 

Dan Cupid, passing by one day 59 

Day after day the scorching August noon I79 

Each action hath its season 247 

Excuse my neglect : I had thought I would come 233 

From low beginnings raised too proudly high 180 

God's rule is over all to work His will 271 



294 Tabic of First Lines. 

PAGE 

He comes to-night ! the moments strangely linger 143 

He was the free, the great, the nobly good 234 

How I do love the silken hair 229 

However murk the coming night 146 

Here by the stream, and in the East the sun ! 216 

How vain the work that man hath done 238 

I said, I will be wise, and know 267 

I do not see among thy sighing train 214 

In the beginning it was Nature's plan 212 

In times whereof man's memory 43 

It has been said that life's a dream 75 

It is not life that thousands of us live 175 

It is over, — it is over 208 

I recant, I recant, — I never can hold out 210 

I've trod the slippery path of fame 221 

I was not then, as I am now 202 

I listened, one night, to a party at play 124 

I sought for wisdom with a constant heart 240 

I saw the place where judgment sat enthroned 250 

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth 3 

Life is short : at every turn 204 

Let us go where the mourners assemble 261 

Maggie says I do not love her 152 

My books lie dusty on the shelves 161 

Night after night thy beacon-fires are lit 177 

No longer can that boast be sung 189 

Oh, how I love at evening tide 133 

O lazy, lagging Time ! 165 

Oh that my pen, no longer roughly halting 163 

Once more, grim Death ? Our boy, our only one ! 184 

Once on a time, on Susquehanna's side 100 

O ! river of the winding shore 112 

Our baby Kate, lent to us for a while 172 

O thou freed spirit, clothed in robes of light 186 

Only a year had fled on silent wing 187 

O Maude ! could I but come to thee 188 

Peace, commerce, arts! long may your cares beguile 49 

Poor Bessie dead ! Now may the frightened mice 231 

Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth 277 



Table of First Lines. 295 

PAGE 

See how oppression beareth down 262 

Set not your heart on shining gold 257 

She svveetly sleeps * ... * 227 

Supreme he stood, a nation at his feet . . . , ^ 181 

Sweet little bird ! so tame and yet so wild 169 

Sweet little loving thing, low, low, low 127 

Sweet is the light to youthful eyes 285 

Thus the wise king-preacher taught .... 4 .... * 288 

The clock strikes ten ! O weary, weary night 150 

The village clock is on the stroke of ten ! 159 

The morning hath no charms for me 219 

The spirit said, " Sing," as I wandered 121 

Thou viewless Wind ! mysterious thing ! , , . . » 136 

There Was a time when Time itself was young 174 

Thy rich and blooming youth 199 

'Tis midnight hour : the world in sleep. » 223 

'Twas erst in Britain's isle. When Rome withdrew 82 

Though God give honor, riches, wealth 259 

Though a sinner do evil an hundred times 273 

When thy foot goeth to the house of God 255 

Who beareth rule in earthly place .-. 252 

With what a full and infinite delight , , 182 

What gives to the Princess of Breffni this mood ? 67 

What silly boy, perfumed with liquid unguents 235 

When eve has come, and in my lonely room 117 

While slow-paced Truth is binding. . , 130 

Why do you love me ? said my blushing maid 157 

Why should we part ? 140 

Wisdom is better than gold inherited 265 

When I applied my heart to know , 275 

Who, as the wise man, stands before the king 270 

Year after year brings changes in its train 91 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



PAGE 

A Ballad 206 

Ad Evam ^^4 

After the Battle 221 

Asrainst Woman ^"7 

A Monody 227 

Anathemas ^°^ 

A Political Study ^^° 

A Royal Pastoral ^ 

A Serenade ^^3 

Aurora Borealis ^7° 

A Valentine ^33 

A Visit to Santa Claus 3° 



Ballad, A 



206 

ON 



Battle of Lake Erie, The ^ 

Boyd ^"^ 

Breach of Promise, The 59 



Castle-Building ^17 

Cautions ^^3 

Contradictions ^79 

Corruptions ^°^ 

Creation ^74 

Dearbhorgil, Rape of ^^ 

Delayed Letter, The ^°^ 

Demagogue, The ^^^ 

Destiny 74 

Ecclesiastes ^3^ 

Euchre ^24 

Eat and Drink ^^^ 



298 Index of Titles. 



PAGE 

Fact and Fancy 173 

Falsehood and Truth 130 

Farewell, Woman 208 

Felis Infelix 231 

Fifth Ode, The 235 

Fourth of July, Ode for the 107 

Flute, Ode to My 133 

God the Judge 250 

God Over All 275 

Greatness, Vanity of 49 

Helen 183 

Hope 184 

Instability of Things 247 

Kate, Our Baby 172 

Knight of St. John, The 193 

Labor, Vanity of 238 

L'Envoy 288 

Life Misspent 175 

Lake Erie, The Battle of 189 

Magic Name, The 163 

Married 171 

Minnequa 219 

Miser, To a 257 

Monody, A 227 

My Pew at St. Paul's 170 

Maude 186 

Miscellaneous Poems 189 

Noctes Ambrosiae 143 

Northern I eights 177, 178 

Ode for the Fourth of July 107 

Ode, The Fifth 235 

Ode, Ad Evam 214 

Ode to My Flute 133 

Ode to the Wind 136 

Old Age 285 

Oppressions 252 

One More Year 187 

Our Baby Kate 172 



Index of Titles. 299 

PAGE 

Parting ^4° 

Pastoral, A Royal 2 

Pew at St. Paul's, My ^7° 

Poems to Margaret ^33 

Political Study, A.-. ^°° 

Praise of Wisdom ^"5 

Progress of the Age : A Satire ^°° 

Promise, The Breach of 59 

Providence Over All ^71 



Quail, The, 



169 



Rape of Dearbhorgil 66 

Reality and Romance ^52 

Reason Why, The ^57 

Recantation 210 

Remonstrance, The ^99 

Respect to Kings 270 

Romance and Reality ^52 

Rose, To a, from my Bush 225 



Rowena 



81 



Royal Pastoral, A ^ 

Saint Valentine's Day 43 

Santa Claus, A Visit to 3° 

Serenade, A ^^3 

Shaving : A Satire 9i 

Signal Lamp. The ^40 

Snow, Under the 127 

Sonnets ^^9 

Spirit Melody ^^^ 

Sub Rosa ^9& 

Summer ^79 

Stoicisms 204 

Susquehanna, The ^^^ 

The Battle of Lake Erie 1^9 

The Breach of Promise 59 

The Delayed Letter 1°^ 

The Demagogue ^^^ 

The Fifth Ode 235 

The Fourth of July, Ode for io7 

The Magic Name ^°3 

The Signal Lamp ^4° 

The Susquehanna ^^^ 

The Quail ^^9 

The Reason Why ^57 



300 Index of Titles. 



PAGE 

The Remonstrance 199 

The Toper's Reverie 216 

The Two Houses 261 

The Knight of St. John 193 

Ten O'clock 159 

Time 165 

To a Miser 257 

To a Young Man 277 

Truth and Falsehood 130 

The End 188 

The Winding Stair 229 

To a Rose from my Bush 225 

Under the Snow 127 

Unforgotten 182 

Vanity of Greatness 49 

Vanity of Labor 238 

Vanity of Pleasure 242 

Vanity of Speech 255 

Vanity of Wisdom 240 

Valentine, A 233 

Visit to Santa Glaus, A 30 

Waiting 150 

Washington 234 

Wealth Unenjoyed 259 

Wind, Ode to the 136 

Winding Stair, The 229 

Wisdom, Praise of 265 

Wisdom Unappreciated 281 

Wisdom, Vanity of 240 

Woman 212 

Woman, Against 267 

Young Man, To a 277 



